


And The Stars Never Rise

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s sure he heard a glass breaking and someone screaming “Fuck!” to his left. He’s on his knees and his hearts going a million miles an hour. This isn’t how he’s supposed to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heaven's Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I got a plot bunny and it came from my sudden fixation with that Lana Del Rey song Gods and Monsters, dont judge me. This maaaayy be long

The first time Dean saw him, well, they weren’t the most conventional circumstances.

It wasn’t all normal and how people usually meet, no. He was on his way home from a little part time job in a dive of a bar in a part of town nobody wanted to raise kids in to put it mildly. And he passed an alleyway and nearly tripped over his foot. On the ground theres a guy  pressing a hand to his shoulder under his dark jacket, in obvious pain, and cursing under his breath with his eyes shut. At first Dean contemplated moving on because for all he knows its a ploy and he’s gonna get mugged. But he couldn’t leave him just sitting on the ground.

Asking him if he was okay earned him a quiet ‘ _Screw you_ ,’ and again he seriously thought about leaving. The man muttered under his breath something that didn’t sound like English, face turned skyward, his laboured breathing was more concerning than his mental state.

“Dude,” Dean crouched, “Correct me if I’m wrong but I think you need help.” He barked a laugh like it was funny.

"Well," he turned his face toward the sound of Deans voice, “You’re not wrong.”

“Gonna tell me whats the matter, smartass?”

He groaned as he shifted, “Shoulder. Got hit.”

Dean didn’t want to touch him yet, in case he decided to stab him in the face or something. He shifted his weight, looking behind him when a dog barked somewhere. He hated dogs.

“With what?”

The guy frowned, “A bullet, genius. Managed to drag myself over here to die.”

“You’re not gonna die. I’ll call 911-“

“No!” His eyes shot open when he shifted, but he winced. Dean thought he saw red on his collarbone, “No just- I’ll be fine just gimme a sec.”

And if his eyes weren’t the brightest blue Dean had ever seen.

“How the hell did you get shot in the first place?” Dean asked, moving backwards as he twisted onto his knees, still clutching his shoulder. His right arm he held close to his body as he struggled to his feet leaning heavily on the grimy wall. His head hung, he had a twisted expression like moving the wrong way was agony.

He laughed coldly, “You’re not from round here, are you?” his breath misted in the air and he sounded a little strung out, “Watch ‘Ross Kemp on Gangs’ its enlightening.”

“Let me guess, got caught in the crossfire?”

He regarded Dean almost uneasily, “Something like that.”                                                                                

“At least let me give you a ride home,” Dean offered, “My cars just round the corner.”

* * *

“This isn’t a home,” was the first thing Dean said upon pulling up outside the address the man (who he discovered was named Castiel) gave him.

“Its a house.”

“Its a shack.”

The thing was nearly falling down on the edges of town and  looked like the slightest gust of wind would floor it. Castiel shot him a look but screwed his eyes shut again.

“I feel like a prat for asking this,” he mumbled, tipping his head back, “But I might need some help.”

Dean sighed and got out, waiting for Castiel to follow. “Why didn’t you just let me call an ambulance?”

He grumbled something profane about why could he just mind his own business and let him die, Dean ignored it and followed him to the shack. The windows were all boarded up, the door looked like it’d fall off its hinges and, in short, it was a shithole. But he said nothing, watching as Castiel unlocked the door one-handed and shouldered it open. The inside was actually tidy. The lights actually worked. But it was cold.

Castiel had his jacket off, unbuttoning his shirt and mumbling in some language Dean didn’t understand, occasionally cursing. That he did understand. Then he saw the wings, big and outlined in black on Castiels shoulders, a pentagram in between the two. The wingtips came down over his arms too, it made Dean want to either trace the lines with his fingers or get one just like it. The good thing was that there was no exit wound, but it made things a little harder cos the bullet was still in there.

“ _Destituo omnem spem, qui ingressi_ ,” Castiel murmured, going through one of the drawers in a cabinet. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the side in the same hand he held what looked like surgical tweezers and a little green bag.

“Are you speaking Latin?”

Castiel looked up at him once, staying silent and moving to the round table near the window.

“Meus es soles, meus unicum soles tu felicem me videas...” he began singing under his breath, “Ut es caelos cinereo es.”

Dean laughed, pushing the door shut behind him. He was fairly confident a guy with a bullet in his shoulder couldn’t overpower him. In saying that, he was pretty well built.

“Now you’re just showing off.”

He shrugged with one shoulder bringing the now open bottle to his lips, “Its rusty. Bite me.”

A bead of sweat ran down his neck and he sloshed a generous amount of the alcohol on his shoulder with a hiss, reaching for the tweezers. He turned his back to Dean like he didn’t want him seeing what he was doing next which was obviously digging the bullet out.

“ _Dammit_!” Castiel smacked the tweezers down after a minute of pained sounds and cursing, turning to Dean with a snarl on his lips, “How good are you at Operation?” he asked like he wasn’t bleeding from his shoulder.

“I- excuse me?”

“Your hands,” he said again, with a little less anger, “How steady are your hands?”

Dean stepped forward, concentrating on Castiels face to keep himself from staring at his body covered in nicks and scars. Why was he even still here? He said he’d give him a ride, thats it. “They’re decent.”

“Good,” Castiel held the tweezers out to him, “I need you to dig it out.”

“What- why not just go to hospital?”

The man sighed exaggeratedly, “Because they ask for your name and a bunch of other reasons.”

He took the tweezers from him, scowling because he wasn’t too keen on digging around under some guys skin for a bullet. In all honesty, he reminded him of days gone by, of riding around in that car outside looking for jobs to get them through. Thats all gone though.

Castiel took in a sharp breath when he found the bullet, giving it a gentle twist, “ _Rahat_!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and curiosity got the better of him again, “How do you know so many languages?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Castiel snapped back, his hand gripping the table tight and closing his eyes. He grit his teeth and hummed under his breath, tapping his fingers on his side like he could distract himself.

“There,” Dean dropped the bullet on the table and picking up the little green bag. It held some cotton wool, he soaked it in the whiskey and pressed it to the open wound. “It’ll need stitches.”

Castiel gave him that funny look again, but held the wool to his shoulder while Dean looked for the sterile thread and needle. He huffed a quiet laugh threading the needle and Cas sighed, “Whats so funny?”

“Nothin’. You just, uh, really remind me of my dad.”

“I gotta ask,” Castiel checked at is wound, poking it a little, “You look like you know what you’re doing. Any reason?”

He shrugged, handing Cas the bottle of whiskey because he looked like he needed it. “My dad was a nutjob, if I’m honest. Drove me and my brother round the country since I was a kid. Dead now, God rest his bastard soul.”

He took a swig of the whiskey, “Went round picking fights and you were the one patching him up?”

“Pretty much.”

It was quiet after that, just Dean stitching up this guys shoulder, sticking a patch dressing on it, leaving everything on the table and turning round to leave again. Castiel said his name, asked him where he was going. He claimed he was going home, his job was done.

“Hey,” he said when Dean pulled the door open carefully, “Thanks. I mean it. Not many people would’ve done that.”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, they still had blood on them, “No biggie.”

“You need anything just gimme a call,” he gave Dean a million dollar smile tainted with whiskey, “Honestly.”

Dean left him with a nod and shut the door as best he could, knowing he’d probably never see him again. Even if he was probably a decent guy at heart, its pretty unlikely a person like him would stay long in one place, if he was that much like his dad.


	2. Things Possessed Of Power

Last thing he remembered was a lot of yelling and a couple of guys pulling him over the bar. His heads fuzzy but he can tell he’s in an enclosed space. And its cold. A lot of voices murmuring in here, too. But he cant see for the bandana over his eyes. Some are arguing over why the hell they took a guy back with them. It was meant to be a simple hit and run, not a hostage situation. He’s sure he heard a glass breaking and someone screaming “ _Fuck_!” to his left. He’s on his knees and his hearts going a million miles an hour. This isn’t how he’s supposed to die.

Then it all went quiet.

A single set of footsteps made their way over to him.

“Boys,” a new voice drawled, “Ladies, ladies, ladies...” it sounded like every villain from every movie he’d ever watched. Then he nearly shat himself when the yelling started, “Why the fuck is there a kid in a fucking suit in here?!”

Then the frightened murmurs all saying different versions of the same story. In all honesty Dean could have avoided this completely. He could have stayed behind the bar with everyone else but no, he had to be the stupid asshole to look up. It was fancy night at the bar, all employees were required to wear their best and Deans best was an old suit.

“I don’t care who did it,” the man yelled again, “I want to know why!”

“Michael,” another voice snapped, going soft all of a sudden, “Why, you’re frightening the poor children!”

Now Dean was crapping himself because theres _two_ of them. No matter how he liked to harp on that he could play a part in the mobster films Sam made him watch he was utterly useless in the real life, very scary version. More footsteps came toward him, slower and more precise. Like a cat closing in on a bird. A hand ran through his hair, fingers brushing down his cheek to tip his chin up and he drew in a sharp breath because it was fucking cold. A voice above him hushed him like one would a child.

“Relax son,” he said softly, he heard a few chuckles from the crowd surrounding him. The fingers gently holding his chin pulled up and someone sighed to his right, “Come on, up. _Up_.”

Dean staggered to his feet. His hands tied behind his back, useless. He just wanted the blindfold off, to run, he’s fucked either way.

“Now,” hands clapped, “Who do we blame? Shut up, Munik, I didn’t ask you. The answer? No one.”

“What,” the first voice cut in, “We just let him go? So he can go tell every cop in a twenty mile radius we’re here?”

No one said anything else.

He felt hands at the back of his head untying the bandana, and he sort of wished he hadn’t. The crowd, anywhere between fifty and a hundred guys, all staring at him like hungry animals. Every single one of them had been at the bar at some point or another, hell he served half of them. And then theres the face in front of him. He’s shorter than Dean. Lighter hair. A scruffy beard but strangely soft eyes and a cocky look about him. He assumed he was the one who told him to stand. The other one, taller with jet black hair, had his unnervingly snakelike eyes fixed on Dean like he was imagining all the ways to kill him and more. His right hand twirled a knife flipping the blade out and away again. He scared Dean the most.

On a sofa near him a man sat with two girls, one under each arm, clearly intoxicated and not in the slightest interested in anyone else. He actually looked high if he was honest. But it was like he knew him, probably from the bar. Maybe the garage.

But shit, he was terrified.

“You got a name, son?” the man in front of him asked. “Dont be shy.”

“D-Dean,” he swallowed, shifting is weight, “What’re you gonna do to me?”

“Well,” the man on the couch said in a drunk English accent, “If we like you we might keep you!”

Quick as lightening the man with black hair threw the knife in his hand, somehow just managing to get it between the sofa mans legs only inches from his crotch, “Balthazar,” he hissed, “I am not in the best of humours.”

Balthazar regarded the knife lazily, “You missed.”

The man who threw the knife growled and stepped forward, producing another knife from somewhere looking like he was about to stick Balthazar, but stopped when the shorter one placed a wide hand on his chest, “Michael! Go kick a puppy or something, honestly your temper is _appalling_.”

Dean could not believe he was seeing this, it was like an episode of one of those family problem shows or reality TV, not a big scary gang trying to kill him.

“Lucifer,” Michael growled again, “I swear, one day I’ll kill you!”

He stalked off, leaving the group for a large, cushy armchair to the back of the room. Dean wanted to laugh at the petty arguing, but he might’ve gotten stabbed for it. Lucifer cocked his head, looking him up and down. Each second that went by it only got quieter. How with a mass of people in the room, he didn’t know. But quiet it was. The man before him clicked his tongue against his teeth a few times, advancing on him and forcing Dean back. The way he held himself and his attitude made it, he knew he had power and thats all it took.

“So,” he drew out the single word, “What to do with you...”

* * *

Its been four hours since Michael went ‘out for a fag’ and now he comes back in, looking incredibly triumphant.

Michael shook a little black wallet at him.

“Dean Winchester,” Lucifer said with a smirk, “Twenty-four. Kansas drivers licence. But no bills in your wallet. Why’s that?”

Dean just kept his mouth shut, he didn’t know if he was allowed to speak. He grit his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides. His eyes scanned the crowd as they murmured amongst themselves and- holy shit. Castiel, the guy he patched up like months ago, is perched on top of a box in the corner, watching him intently and he almost says his name but Castiel shook his head. But he couldnt look away from the man crouched on top of the crate all in black, save his white shirt and dog tags glinting where they dangled from his neck. Lucifer turned to look where he was staring, and only smiled like the friggin’ Cheshire cat.

 “Lucy quit the foreplay,” Michael held out Deans wallet to him, “You’re practically useless. But take this as a warning.” He glanced at Castiel, “Show him out.”

* * *

He had so many questions as Castiel drove the little Polo out of the opening leading to the warehouse.

“You’re one of them,” he scoffed, “Why?”

“Coercion,” Cas answered simply, eyes on the road. “The Rapture have ways of coercing people to do bad things. Everyone has a price.”

“Yeah? What was yours?”

Cas glanced at him for a half second, pulling up outside his street. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell another living soul?”

“Sure. My place?”

Cas shrugged, watching Dean get out before sliding out himself. They walked up to his flat, steps behind each other. It wasn’t calming, but it wasn’t making Dean any more anxious either having Cas here. He’d already sworn he hadn’t breathed a word about their encounter months ago, there was no way anyone should know about him. He’d been careful, too. And now he convinced Dean to call his boss tomorrow and quit and never visit that part of town again.

Inside he handed Cas a beer from the fridge and sat him at the kitchen table. He looked a little uncomfortable as he commented that it was a nice place, taking a tentative sip from the bottle and looking around.

“C’mon,” Dean prompted, “Spill.”

He sighed, “My mom died when I was fourteen. A bus crash. Daddy dearest didn’t care about me after. Stayed in school long enough for a GED and after that... Long story short, I’ve been missing since I was seventeen and I’ve got problems.”

“Like?”

“Like right now I’ve figured out ten ways to escape,” he smiled lopsidedly over his bottle at Dean, “And four ways to kill you and get away with it.”

“I was right,” Dean picked at his bottles label and watched the white and blue flake off.

“About?”

“You really remind me of my dad.”

Cas smiled for real this time, even laughing a little. “Your dad’s a real ass then.”

“Yeah he was. A real bastard.”

They stayed quiet for a little while, Cas stared at his hand on his bottle like it held answers to how they got out of this mess. He twirled the bottle in little circles, round and round. Its a little weird having Cas in his kitchen, sharing a beer and a chat like friends. But not bad.

“I don’t know why I just told you that,” Castiel whispered, almost to himself, “I don’t tell anyone anything.”

Dean frowned at the table. “Because I listened?”

That got him a tiny little smile, “Thanks for that by the way.”

“Y’know, you’re kinda nice for a thug.”

“You’re not so bad for a ratón indefenso.”

“I don’t know what you just called me but you’re laughing,” he saw Cas drain the last of his beer, moving to stand up, “Hey, uh, stay? A couple more couldn’t hurt.”

Cas smiled again, the most Dean had seen him smile since he met him. He sat back down, “You should shower, you look like hell.”

Dean huffed, “Will you still be here when I get back?”

“Sure. This feels weird.”

He stood up, frowning as he passed, “What does?”

Cas frowned down at the floor, "Nothing."

Dean didnt try asking why he said it in the first place.

* * *

He should’ve known not to expect much. When he came back to the kitchen he found it empty. Empty bottles still on the table, but the two dishes in the sink had been washed and set out on the draining board.

He sighed, going to clear up the two bottles, only then finding the index card shoved under Castiels. Neat, practiced handwriting in the blue pen he kept beside the phone. ‘ _I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay. Castiel_.’ And underneath was a phone number and a little note to call him later. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. He had a number and he knew where the guy supposedly lived. That sounded creepy. He went to the fridge, finding another index card with smaller writing this time. ‘ _I’ll try work something out with them. Dont look for me. I promise, I’ll try keep them away from you.’_

* * *

Of course he saw the guy across the street watching them go up the steps. He wasn’t stupid. He ignored it for Deans sake. But actually going with him was probably his biggest mistake. Thats why he had to leave quickly, thats why he lied. Although he couldn’t deny he didn’t dislike him. And he was selfish. So he left his number and a note like the idiot he was.

As soon as he slid into his car the passenger door opened and Gabe hopped in beside him. He liked Castiel, he probably volunteered himself to go instead of one of the other mugs.

“That was a dick move, Cas,” he said as he pulled away from the kerb, “What if it wasn’t me?”

“I would’ve dealt with it.”

He laughed mirthlessly, “How? Like you ‘dealt with it’ last time?”

Castiel shot him a look and kept driving. He’d make him get out at his place then go home. Cas switched the radio on for some sound but Gabe just turned it off again.

“I thought you knew by now,” he said like a disappointed parent, “You cant have friends. Its too dangerous.”

“Dean wont go to the cops.”

“I didn’t mean for us.”

He passed out of the middle-class sort of area into the uptown where people drove Mercedes and Chrysler. Gabe somehow managed to get a place here and keep it. Probably because he was a better liar than Cas. He’d offered Cas to come live with him more times than he had fingers and toes, and each time he refused. Its not his life.

He got a few funny looks at his little black car with its dents and key scratches. He didn’t care, it was his car, he loved her. Got him from A to B and whatever else he needed.

They stopped outside the apartment block Gabriel called home. He thought he’d ask the same question he did every time but instead he gave him a sympathetic sort of look and sighed, muttering to himself.

“Look after yourself, Cas,” he said tiredly, “Better yet, run. Get out. You deserve better.”

Castiel didn’t say a word as he got out and shut the door. He turned the radio on again, loud enough to make his ears hurt and heads turn on the street. It took everything he had not to drive right back to Dean and sit outside, just to make sure nothing happened overnight.


	3. Tormented Whirlwinds

Dean had to call him at the worst possible time. _Naturally_. He had a habit of doing things either wrong place, wrong time or both. He held the phone in one hand, the police issue handgun in the other. Oh yeah, and he’s up to his waist in smelly water under a bridge. Perfect.

“Hey,” Dean says, and it has a weird calming effect on Cas even though he can hear the cars patrolling up and down, “You told me to call.”

Its been a week since he saw Dean and he’d almost forgotten about it. He checked round the corner to his right just as a low, black car crawled by, “Now’s not a brilliant time.”

He heard Deans laugh, “Caught in the crossfire again?”

“Something like that,” they basically were just repeating their first conversation, but quieter and no blood. Yet. “Listen can I call you back? Kinda busy.”

A man up on the bridge said something about someone being under and he internally cursed himself for even prolonging this thing. Hiding was the worst possible idea he could’ve went with in this situation. Someone cocked their gun and the water to his left exploded, splashing his face. He held his ground.

“Was that a gunshot?”

“Sorry, gotta go.”

He hung up, shoving the phone into his jacket and slowly moved to the right. His next idea was even more stupid, but its the best he’s got in this situation now they know he’s there. That shot was just to draw him out, make him scared. Another one to the right, hitting the water to his right barely a foot away. Now or never. His bullet, if he was lucky, would hit someone up there or cause enough commotion to let him scramble up the bank onto the bridge itself. Theres only two, maybe three guys.

The bullet hit the wood, splintering it a million different ways, going straight up through and he assumed hit a guy in the foot because someone screamed and shots were fired down under the bridge.

Just another day in the office.

* * *

Dean found him yet again, limping his way home with a sprained ankle from turning a corner to hard and too fast. And barely keeping upright. That beautiful car of his rolled to a stop beside him and Dean stuck his head out the window. He had a little wound at his hip, a bullet caught him and tore a hole through his side just above his pelvis. The entry and exit wounds were one fucking hole.

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“Eat me,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle, his throat hurt like hell, he’d lost his gun on the way and he’d be fucked if he hadn’t lost his mind too.

“You look like shit,” Dean commented. Cas shot him a look and contemplated biting back something sarcastic but his little shack was just up ahead, few hundred yards. He needed to get inside or he’d pass out from blood loss eventually. The running had torn the tiny wound near his hip bigger. But something was wrong. Guys in these balaclava things with green petrol cans jogged back from his house, one lit a match and then it clicked that they’re going to burn his little place to the ground.

He might have yelled something at them (Romanian curses probably) but it was drowned out by the roar when the little wooden shack went up. The guys cheered and thats when Cas saw them, they’re not from any rival rings, they’re teenagers. It only made him angrier.

He was running for them before he really knew what was happening, the pain in his ankle gone. He knew he was probably tearing himself farther but he didn’t care. The little brats just burned down the place he called home. His photographs, his records, gone.

Castiel heard Dean calling after him, but he had already caught up to one of the kids and grabbed him, all but falling on top of him. He tore the balaclava off to see the face of the one who destroyed his home. Some spotty, snot nosed kid who looked absolutely terrified now.

* * *

He caught up eventually, Cas was straddling the poor kid and had one hand fisted in his jacket while the other gripped his jaw far too tightly. He yelled something that sounded European and angry and the kid was actually starting to cry. He only looked, what, fourteen at the oldest?

“We- we were told-“ the kid tried to say, “They paid us to- they said-“

Dean was actually fully prepared to let Cas lay into him for a while, but he saw the blood coming from his side and it looked too much to be healthy. So he grabbed his shoulders and pulled at him trying to get him off the weeping, gibbering teenager.

“Cas- c’mon buddy,” he felt Cas trembling under his hands, “They’re kids, just stupid kids.”

Eventually, Cas rolled off of the boy with a groan, clutching his side and gritting his teeth against the pain. Dean told the kid to get lost and he sprinted away with halfhearted cries of fear. Stupid fucking kids.

“My house-“ Cas was mumbling between laboured breaths, “They fucking destroyed-“

“I know, I know bud,” Dean pulled him up and took most of his weight, “You’re bleeding, we need to get you to hospital.”

His head rolled to the side, hitting Deans shoulder and it stayed there like he didn’t have the strength to lift it, “No, no hospital please, I cant-“

Dean huffed and kept dragging him to the car. Despite being shorter the guy was pretty heavy. Maybe because his jeans were soaked and he was nearly a deadweight on his side.

“If you give me a valid reason then I’ll agree.”

Cas grit his teeth, “Its...dangerous.”

“Because of The Rapture?”

“No,” he half moaned, “Not that. Somethin’ else.”

He dropped the limp man into the car as gently as he could, shutting the door. Every time they had this conversation it only made Dean more frustrated because the hospital was the ideal place to be for him right now, considering he was delirious either from exhaustion or the amount of blood seeping between his fingers.

“Tell me or I’m going to the hospital and you cant say shit.”

“Fine,” Cas snapped, but it lacked conviction. “Morphine. Hospitals are full of the shit.”

“You’re allergic?” he started the engine and turned away from the burning pile of timber, but Cas’ half-shut eyes followed it in the mirror until all they could see was a dim glow on the horizon. He was kind of glad it was gone, Cas could get somewhere better. But obviously Cas had mixed feelings.

“No,” he breathed, sounding nearly completely gone. His head fell to rest on the cold window. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat under his hood, blood drained from his face, “Don’t wanna go...”

“Then where the hell do we go? I don’t think I can fix you this time, not on my own.”

Castiel shifted, still with his eyes shut, reaching inside his jacket for his scratched flip phone. “Speed dial two... Gabriel.”

Dean turned to ask him who the hell Gabriel was but the man slumped against the door, both hands covering the blood soaked fabric at his hip. He looked like he was dead, but the glass fogged up a little with shallow breaths.

Dean called Gabriel.

* * *

Castiel was still unconscious when he reached the address Gabriel gave him after asking a million questions. He was a short man with slicked back blonde hair and an attitude. Not too dissimilar from Cas then. He got Dean to grab Cas and drag him inside, telling the man at the desk that he’d been at a fancy dress party as a murder victim and gotten himself shitfaced. An unlikely story but he believed it.

Gabriel didn’t seem to care about getting blood on his white leather couch, telling Dean just to lie him down. Dean was terrified for him, he’d obviously been stabbed with something and his little stunt with the running had torn it even more. When they peeled the shirt away a little more blood trickled out, Gabriel got him to press his hand over it while he searched for his ‘bag.’ That turned out to be a paramedics bag with the whole shebang in it. When asked where he got it he just said ‘somewhere.’

Gabriel flushed the wound, stitched it up all pretty and gave it a bandage just in case. He even hooked Cas up with an IV. To get his fluids back up he said.

He told the shorter man then about what happened, where he found Cas.

He didn’t seem surprised at all as he washed his hands, “He was on some stupid, suicide job for Michael. He does that, makes Castiel do all these stupid jobs. They’re just distractions so the other mooks can do their bit.”

“You sound like you care,” Dean murmured, brushing Cas’ hair away from his forehead to put a cold cloth there. Gabriel glared at him from the kitchen, “I do care, Dean. If I don’t, who will?”

“He said he was addicted to morphine,” he said, changing the subject, “How did that happen?”

Gabriel sighed and told him to come follow him to the kitchen, sitting him at the table with a little shot glass of a tumbler with whiskey. He refilled his own, glancing through at Cas still comatose on the sofa.

“He had a friend once, got hurt on a job. Meg she was called,” he said quietly, like Cas could hear, “And of course those idiots know nothing about dosages. She got addicted. Killed her with too much.”

“Christ,” Dean downed his whiskey and Gabriel looked at his own glass, swirling it around. Dean felt like there was another meaning behind that, or it wasn’t the real reason, but he didn’t push it farther. It was the reason they were telling him, thats good enough.

 “So now he’s terrified of ending up like her,” he understood it now, “Poor bastard.”

“He wont even take painkillers,” he paused, “Dont tell him but I put a little morphine in the IV. Just to help him sleep it off.”

Dean frowned, “Thats stupid, its just painkillers.”

“Put yourself in his shoes, Dean,” Gabriel finished off his whiskey, and now he noticed the mans eyes were the same colour as it, “Would you rather put up with a bit of pain or risk everything?”

* * *

He still has nightmares about coming off it.

The cold sweats. Goosebumps. Vomiting. Weight loss. Spasms. Anxiety. The humiliating crying and begging for it to stop. Oh how many times he’d begged Gabriel just for a little to make it go away, but he’d made him promise not to give him anything.

At one point Gabriel locked him in the bathroom with his hands zip-tied because he kept trying to pull his own hair out. In the end it was worth it, he got clean and he hadn’t been near it again. Avoiding hospital was the least of his problems, he survived without it well enough. Flesh wounds and headaches were nothing compared to what he went through.

Last thing he remembered was telling Dean to call Gabriel before he passed out. There’s someone near his ear, whispering just have a drop, it’d not mean anything. Besides it would help the pain in his side. And there’s a needle in his arm pumping liquid into his veins and he cant stop it he cant-

Someone touched his forehead, said his name and he shot up from the couch, ignoring the pulling and burning from his side. His eyes adjusted slowly, and there’s a familiar face in front of him. Its okay, it was saying, its just me.

Gabriel rose from the floor to sit beside him on the couch as he noticed there was a needle in his arm, he yanked it out, not caring that it hurt or it bled. His side hurt more than anything. He let his head fall to his hands, burying his fingers in his lank and oily hair.

“Another nightmare?” Gabriel asked, rubbing a hand over his back, “Its okay, you’re alright.”

“I’m twenty-four,” he said, and it sounded like a sarcastic remark aimed at Gabriel, and it partly was. But its just what he did, what Gabriel told him to do to bring him down, “I’m Castiel. I’m from New Jersey.”

He kept murmuring to himself until his heart rate slowed, until he couldn’t feel the phantom poison in his veins. Gabriel used to coach him through it, soft words and a hand on his forehead until he could see again. He wasn’t always there though.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked, standing up to test his legs. His knees shook a little, but they worked.

“He went home, Cas. Its four in the morning.” He poured Cas a mix of vodka and diet coke, out of habit from when he was younger. “Seems like a nice guy. We talked for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“About his dad,” he handed Cas the codka as he called it, “And you. He’s worried about you now you’ve got nowhere to stay.”

He’d forgotten about those little fuckers, “I’m gonna find them and kill them.”

“No you wont.”

“And why not?” he bit back, holding his side with one hand. He still wore his bloody clothes and just wanted to change but wait, all his stuff got Molotov’d by a couple of kids in balaclavas.

“Cos you’re not bloodthirsty like that.”

Castiel wanted to say ‘watch me’ but he was probably right. He couldn’t kill a couple of prepubescent morons in cold blood. But he could probably break their wrists and get away with it. Or he could settle for their noses and fingers. He sipped away at the codka, still a little woozy from the whole losing a couple of gallons of blood thing.

“Cas,” Gabe said after a while, “Do me a favour and crash here, just while you get back on your feet. And stay away from him. You know what happens.”

He didn’t say yes or no.


	4. One Ought To Be Afraid Of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for (implied??) violence/gore and implied abuse

All he really remembered about that night was dad handing him Sammy and telling him to take his brother outside. He remembered the fire, the heat, the smoke. And being damn scared. Sam doesn’t remember anything, he was six months old and Dean was four. After that it was miles of road, school after school, its a wonder he came out with any qualifications at all.

His brother was all he had then, because dad was hellbent on finding whoever started the fire. He was crazed, manic, drunk. Especially drunk, all he did was drink. Some days he thought it was gonna get better, like the days he was relatively sober he’d show Dean how to field strip the guns, clean them and put them back together. And how to fix the car when she broke down. But it all just made it worse when John went back to normal and made life hell again.

Dean wanted a normal life for Sam, and he did the best he could for the kid. But sometimes his best wasn’t good enough. Like the time he ran away on his watch. He looked for him everywhere, at one point he even thought he might be dead. And when dad came home to the down-and-out motel they were staying at, found his favourite son gone... Dean still remembered the sting in his cheek where John backhanded him.

He’d been twenty when John died, alcohol poisoning. It’d been numb for a while. Just numb. Then about a week later he blamed himself saying if he hadn’t left that night, if he’d stayed instead of leaving wanting to hit something and instead of looking for a fight, maybe he wouldn’t have died. Which is true, partly. But later he realised he couldn’t blame himself. Only after he spent a week in a motel in the middle of Texas going out of his head, grieving and panicking.

He poured his frustration into making sure Sam got into Stanford and it worked, and Sam was finally getting the chance he didn’t. And then he ran, he got in his car and took everything he could and ran away just driving until he found a place he liked. Sam didn’t call him until Christmas that year, so angry he’d left. Even though everyone kept saying he should go, he should get an education too, he didn’t deserve it. It was too late anyway. He had a job, two in fact. And he managed to hold them both. He had friends, well some.

Tonight was his night off, and he spent it with Charlie who worked at the garage. He watched some crappy movie they argued over, bickered over liquorice and popcorn, both agreed that beer was the drink of choice and settled in on Deans couch with the snacks set out on the coffee table before them. It wasn’t much but it was home for Dean, well almost. Sharing a night in with his friend, that was awesome. 

Not because he was still shaken and paranoid about the Rapture, just that it made him realise how easy it was to lose things like that.

He wasn’t doing anything with his life. He didn’t have any attachments besides his brother, no other close family. And every day that went by he was sure he was becoming more and more like his dad. He had an itching in his gut that told him to pick up and drive away. Leave everything behind, it said, leave town, everyone you know, and run. Again.

And he knew, by god he knew, in the end he’d turn out just like dad. Even if everyone said he was more like mom and thats why John resented him. He reminded Dean at every turn he looked too much like her, acted like her. He said Dean was too kind for ‘the life.’ Even though he knew that his dad was delusional it still hurt that his dad didn’t think he was good enough.

Charlie had passed out on the couch two hours ago, he’d gone to bed. Except he’d been lying here for an hour and a half staring at the wall with a stupid knot in his gut. What if they got Sam? And what happened to Cas?

He shouldn’t care about Cas, but he did. A little too much, he thought. And Dean wondered if that was why he found it so easy to avoid going to the police. Maybe that was why he looked at Cas and knew that he wasn’t just some thug, a nutjob working for a cartel for kicks. Dean would fall asleep feeling sick and wake up still tired as if he hadn’t slept at all.

* * *

He didn’t see Cas for a long time. He knew why. Gabriel explained how their business works, you cant have friends because its too dangerous. Dean guessed he was okay with that, maybe. He worried a little for Cas though after he nearly died. He shouldn’t, its stupid. But he couldn’t help it. He got a new job. Working a few hours a week in a more uptown place, a cafe. Quiet but at least there wasn’t anyone starting fights or mugging you. It looked like the kind of place Sam would call cosy or kitsch. All warm colours and smiles, antique fifties diner stuff. At least he got free coffee.

Sam was home for a while from college. It was great, helped him forget he was being chased by a fucking mob. He didn’t breathe a word to him about it, or Bobby. Michael had warned him if he went to the police he’d get to Sam. If he said no, he’d still get to Sam. This was the reason he couldn’t sleep at night. He had nightmares too, sometimes. Cas featured in a few, mostly just his piercing blue eyes with a fire behind them Dean couldn’t fathom. This was all a little Twilight-esque for his tastes. The mysterious dude with unreal eyes and a secret life disappearing for weeks, leaving him pining for the bastard. He was not pining. Yeah, he says as he draws a pair of eyes on the notepad at work right under a botched sketch of his tattoo. Oh and thats next to the stranger leaning on his Impala with his hood up, obviously Castiel.

Charlie nudged him making a childish squee when she caught sight of his sketches, “Who’s the cutie? Please tell me he’s not fictional.”

Dean gave her a withering look, tearing the page out, “Feels like it sometimes.”

Castiel hadn’t returned any of his calls, or texted him back. The garage was slow today, he had contemplated trying again but told himself it was no use. He might as well just delete the dudes number.

“Shame,” she went on, “Looks like your type.”

Dean scowled at her, “My type?”

“Yeah. You know, dark and seductive. A rebel,” she gave him that look like she knew anything, but she didn’t. Dean just humoured her, rolling his eyes and scrunching up the page. The whole thing was stupid in his opinion.

He gave her red ponytail a tug, “I’m not gay, Charlie, for the last time.”

“Dont knock it till you tried it, Winchester,” she smacked his arm and spun around, skipping away from the office he lounged around in when he had nothing to do. He’d done his quota for today. He’d sit here until someone called him out to do more, thats how it worked round here.

Still, he was getting worried. He’d heard nothing from The Rapture for weeks, not that he was expecting to. But it only served to tighten the knots his intestines had tied themselves into.

* * *

He’d given up on expectations when going to Gabriels flat. Sometimes he had girls, sometimes a mix of guys and girls, and sometimes he was alone. Usually though he made time for Castiel if he could. And most of the time it wasn’t a crime scene.

Literally, a crime scene. Castiel wasn’t one for breaking and entering, but he used his little blade to cut the police seal on the door and make his way in even if he was scared shitless about what he found. It was dark, so he flipped on the lights and the place was littered with evidence markers, the bedroom sectioned off with tape and the kitchen too. It wasn’t a mess but little spots of blood dotted the floor, some of the walls. The kitchen though...

Blood had obviously been cleaned up, and a lot of it. The red stains marked the white tiles, and luminous yellow markers showed him the drag marks. It was cleaner than your average spontaneous or accidental murder. Its nearly impossible to avoid a little mess when you’re killing someone without planning it out meticulously. The amount of blood and the handprint on the fridge told him Gabe was dead. That and the drag marks that stopped suddenly. They probably just threw him in a bag and dumped him somewhere, or burned him. Either way he’s never seeing Gabe again.

The police always missed something, so he went looking around the flat carefully with his sleeve pulled down over his hand. Each step he took made a sound on the hard floor that he was hyperaware of. He just hoped no one came looking, especially the police.

Castiel was desperately trying to keep his emotions at bay, they had no place here. But Gabriel, the closest thing he had to family, was dead. He was pissed, really pissed. And his insides were cold because if they killed him they had a reason. They always had a reason. Which was why he was desperate to know why they were playing this game of cat and mouse with Dean. They didn’t need couriers, they had people everywhere. Why Dean? He’s just a quiet little man with his own life who accidentally got caught up in this.

He found a slip of paper on Gabriels table, his name on it and it wasn’t in Gabriels writing. All it said was ‘ _Hello brother._ ’ Castiel knew then he was completely fucked, he shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Its a ploy to get him back within their reach.

He stumbled back when the hand came over his mouth, pressing a cloth to his face.

“Tell me Castiel,” Lucifer asked him, “Does this rag smell like chloroform?”

He struggled, but Lucifer was stronger and he was getting drowsy. Fucking chloroform, the most stereotypical offence in the world and thats what he’s being brought to his knees with?

He fell, Lucifer almost lovingly holding his head up and hushing him while another set of hands tied his wrists, voices blurred together into one long buzz. And...he’s gone.

* * *

When he woke up it wasn’t on the floor, surprisingly. It wasn’t a car either, or a crappy motel bed. It was the sofa that reeked of cigarettes in the warehouse. And the warehouse was empty besides three people. Balthazar, Michael and Lucifer. He pushed himself up on his tied hands, the zip-ties dug into his wrists. Too tight as usual.

“What did you do to Gabriel?” he asked as soon as his tongue didn’t feel like lead. Even though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer, he had to know.

“We took care of him, love,” Balthazar drawled, sounding drunker than usual. Michael smacked his arm hard enough for him to yelp, biting out something about him not being in a fifties gang movie. Half the time they acted like they _were_ in one.

Castiel was still in a half-dream. Some things were realer than others. He knew that the three people in front of him were real, at least Lucifer was. He didn’t seem to notice Michael and Balthazar bickering behind him so it might be that they’re hallucinations. Castiel always had suspicions that they mixed their product in with other stuff, he just never really wanted to test that theory on anyone.

“Gabriels dead, Cas,” Lucifer came over to the sofa, perching on the arm, “He was becoming...troublesome. Though I deeply regret it.”

“Why?” his head hurt, and he knew he was definitely imagining things now because Michael had actual wings, like swans wings only black and shedding. Fucking hallucinogenics. He tried to lower his heart rate and avoid panicking, the worst thing he could do in this situation.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer touched his hair. Yes, he’s real. His hand was cold and firm but gentle in the way it directed Castiel to look at him, “It had to be done.”

His voice echoed a little, maybe just because they were in the warehouse. Michaels wings were fading a little, and Balthazar blurred and flickered. Hopefully the start of the drug wearing off. Lucifer used a dry rag to wipe some sweat from Castiels brow, and the tenderness made him suspicious of what came next.

“You know why we’re doing this,” he murmured, “Playing with you.”

He frowned up at the forty-something man, he had such a voice that when he spoke you felt at ease and when he told you he killed your family it was twice as terrifying. Like Heath Ledgers Joker, but colder. It made him squirm and want out of there as fast as possible, because here comes the evil villain speech. After that the unwilling hero gets his head kicked in usually.

“Why?” he said again, because thats what he wanted.

“Because you like him,” Lucifer said in a condescending way, petting his hair. He only did that because it irritated Michael, who felt like he held ownership over Castiel, “Because by playing with him we’re toying with you.”

“What-“

“Oh, Cas,” Michael stalked over, a twisted smile on his face, “You always knew didn’t you? We knew from the very start when he picked that piece of metal out of you,” he jabbed him in his shoulder over the scar, “We knew. Thats why we grabbed him.”

He didn’t ask how. They probably had people watching him left and right for him slipping up again. He shouldn’t have gone with Dean that night.

This is why Michael picked him to take Dean home. He knew he’d invite him in. He knew Castiel would get attached, and he knew how much it would hurt because, like Balthazar said once, his heart’s too big for the job. He makes friends too easily, loves too openly. Its his downfall. And God, some people in this were like family. Balthazar he loved like a crazy, alcoholic, man-whore uncle. Gabriel, his older brother. Meg was a sister until she got herself killed. But Michael and Lucifer, the two psychopaths who ran the cartel like they owned the world, were nothing but enemies.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Castiel,” Lucifer said in his ear, “Rebelling against your family.”

“Rebel-?”

Michael cut him off, “Choosing Dean over us.”

“I didn’t,” he lied, “You’re my family.” The words were foul in his mouth, he wanted to spit them out.

“Liar liar,” Lucifer stood up, going over to Balthazar who turned out to be real, “I’ll let you start brother.”

He saw Balthazar mouth an apology at him, looking genuinely sorry, before Michael blocked them from view. Sometimes sorry wasn’t good enough.


	5. So To Stone Within I Grew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for reference to past addiction

He could’ve said any number of things, but he chose to say ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ when Cas walked into the cafe with half his face covered in bruises and a split lip. At least five customers looked round, eying him with suspicion and half an ounce of concern. He had his arms wrapped round his middle, closer to his ribs actually like they hurt a lot. And he looked tired, exhausted in fact.

“Please,” he managed to mumble, leaning on the counter, “I need to... I just want to talk to you.”

He had a fucking nerve, but Dean relented and sighed, pointing to an empty booth near the back. His shift ended soon, it couldn’t hurt. “Go sit down, I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

* * *

He hurt, a lot. A fucking helluva lot. He’s pretty sure he had like four broken ribs and all of them are definitely bruised. He had nowhere else to go, and Gabriel had let slip at some point Dean worked here. He just wanted a break.

Dean sat down opposite him, “You look like shit.”

“You’re a vision,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I tried.”

Dean pushed a paper cup that smelled heavenly towards him, “Tried what?”

He huffed a laugh that hurt his chest, “I went to Gabes and they uh...jumped me. I tried to keep them off you, y’know by staying away but they...they see what I did as rebellion. We’re screwed Dean.”

He already knew he’d have to lay low for a while until he could breathe without hurting. Then he’d get on the road and never come back. Keep moving. Maybe he’d go to New York, he’d never been there. Or back to New Jersey. Turn himself in even if the thought of prison made his insides cold. Dean sipped his coffee, and he took it as an invitation to drink his. It was scalding, but it somehow soothed his dry throat. There was another cup there too, small and plastic and white, holding what looked like just plain water.

Dean must’ve noticed him staring at it, he turned it on the tabletop, “Its water but I crushed two painkillers into it.”

The very fact that it was sitting there made Cas’ throat close up and his stomach drop through the floor. He’d stayed away from anything even close to that for two whole years and now Dean was offering it up on a plate to him. What was that...betrayal? Or just misplaced concern? No, Dean didnt know the real story, did he? Gabriel told him the palatable lie.

“No,” he said before Dean could even suggest it, “I told- You know I cant.”

“Castiel please,” Dean leaned across the table, “I know why you think you cant. I know you’re in agony, and I know I cant force you-“

“Then why are you trying?” he snapped back, hearing his own voice waver. His eyes must’ve been wide as hell and he knew his hands were gripping his hoodie tight, because he was terrified. He wouldn’t tell Dean how scared he was of that plastic cup. He couldn’t go through that again, he wouldn’t put anyone through it not even the worst person in the world. And he wanted to take it, make the pain go away. But he didn’t want the pain that came after.

“I’m trying,” the cup was pushed toward him and he felt like he was being cornered by it, “Because I know you’re in pain.”

“I’m not taking them.”

 “Why not?”

“Because I’m not!” he briefly contemplated telling Dean outright why, but he grit his teeth and glared back for a minute. Dean won the staring match.

 “I’m sorry,” Cas mumbled, shifting painfully, “But I cant drink whats in that cup. Thanks for telling me, though. I know Gabe just puts it in the IV whenever I turn up bleeding to death.”

“How?”

Cas scoffed, taking a long drink from his coffee, “How else would the pain be all magicked away?”

“Good point.”

“All I’m saying is I’d rather someone told me before they tried to force me to take them.”

“Listen,” Dean stared into his coffee, “If you want you can stay at my place for a while.”

It was a seriously tempting offer. Dean had a nice little apartment, and he liked Dean. He counted him as a friend, even if he wasn’t supposed to. But it was too dangerous for him. So he declined, but gave Dean the rest of their drinks to talk to him because he seemed to want to. Its all he could give him.

* * *

Four nights he’s slept in his car at the side of the road that used to lead to his house. It wasn’t that bad. Okay its bad for his back and his ribs. On the fifth day he found himself thinking about the white plastic cup. Sort of wishing he had it now for the dull ache in the back of his head and the sharp pain each time he took a deep breath.

He cursed himself for being such a coward and not being brave enough to take two little pills crushed up in some water. How little Dean must have thought of him.

Starting up the car was his first mistake. His second was driving to Deans, and the third was knocking on his door.Dean took him inside, gave him a glass of water (he promised it didn’t have painkillers in it) and told him just to make himself at home. Did he really look that bad that he didn’t need to say a single word to Dean for him to take sympathy for him? He sat at the kitchen table, sipping at the water. What a magnificent mess he was.

Later, Dean handed him a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, saying he could get changed in the bathroom. Castiel didn’t argue. He was too tired to argue. Even his reflection in the mirror seemed to be telling him to get a fucking grip and leave, get out of Deans hair so he was in a little less danger than he was. He struggled with the shirt, pulling it on and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sound. Because _goddammit_ it hurt.

He nearly cried when Dean offered him a few little pills to make it hurt less, half out of his fear and half from how badly he wanted to say yes. In the end he couldn’t nod cos he was frozen, he couldn’t speak because he didnt trust his tongue, instead staring slack jawed at Dean and his hand on the cabinet in the kitchen.

“Go sit on the couch,” he told him, “I’ll bring them through.”

Now or never, he told himself, but he still found his hands shaking. Even as he clenched them into fists, still trembling in shudders that made their way up to his elbows. Dean put the water down in front of him on the coffee table, he held the pills in his hand. Oh, now he panics? Great, super. He can face six guys with guns but not two little red and yellow pills.

“Hey,” Dean spoke like he was soothing a frightened animal, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. It hurts.”

“Okay,” he tipped the little things into his palm, and each second he waited only made him more and more anxious so he shoved them in his mouth and washed them down before he had a chance to change his mind. But the fact he’d done it didn’t make him feel any better. Cas very nearly gagged, almost coughing them back up, only just managing to keep them down.

Dean turned on the TV, settling back on the couch. Castiel still couldn’t sit still, shuffling his feet and drinking his water slowly while he waited for the pills to kick in. And they did, not as quickly as he’d have liked, straight morphine would have been quicker.

Dean sighed, “Lie down, Cas.”

He scowled at Deans table for a long minute, clenched fists trembling like hell. How weak was he that a simple, every day thing reduced him to such meaningless anxiety? Any day he could've relapsed, any day he could still do it, and now he's practically walking into it. Deans arm came around his shoulders and he was stronger than Castiel thought as he pulled him over. There was no way for him to do it without ending up with his knees tucked up to his chest and his head on Deans thigh. But he didn’t seem to mind. He even ran his fingers through his hair claiming thats what his mom did for him when he couldn’t sleep.

Castiel shut his eyes, “You want to know why I don’t take painkillers?”

“Why not?” he still carded his fingers through his hair, and it was pretty soothing if Cas was honest. It reminded him of home, when mom used to come into his room after a nightmare or during a thunderstorm. He was a terribly anxious child, right up to the day she died and after. His life after forced him to push it aside, the things he had to do left no room for silly fears and he couldnt turn to anyone for help, for a comforting touch or words. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, pushing back the cold feeling clawing at his conscious, digging its ragged nails into his throat.

“I used to... I was an addict,” Castiel would blame it on the painkillers later, spilling his guts like this, “Morphine. It made me numb. Helped me deal with...stuff.”

Helped him switch of to the morals drilled into him by dad, so he could break into places, ransack homes with small children sleeping in their beds, kill people, injure others, generally cause harm. It was on a high he got his stupid tattoo, it'd seemed like a brilliant idea at the time. How he managed without it, the answer was simple. He'd killed himself inside, smothered his conscience with a blanket in its sleep, and its ghost resurfaced at two am to tell him how horrid, how disgusting he was.

“Man thats rough.”

He swallowed, “Rough isn’t the word for it.”

He was starting to get drowsy, and he didn’t know if it was from lack of sleep or what, but he didn’t want to sleep. He was terrified of the nightmares, of withdrawal symptoms, of not knowing. His arms crossed over his chest like a mummy like he used to. And he was scared, for the first time in a while, he was scared.

“I’m proud of you,” Dean murmured, “You took the pills, you said you wouldn’t and you did.”

He felt something in his chest, sort of warm maybe, that lessened the panic rising in his lungs. Nobody really ever said that to him. Ever. “I’m... I don’t think I can take more- what if-“

“You’re strong enough, I know you are,” he soothed again, and Cas felt himself slowly slipping out from the exhaustion. His body was putting everything into keeping the anxiety at bay and healing him, it didnt have enough energy left to stay awake. “You’re safe here.”

He didn’t know how wrong he was. 

* * *

 

Everything in him told him to stay away, stay back, drive a thousand miles away and never come back. To change his number, get a new phone, anything so Dean could never find him, never be in danger again. Instead all he did was keep coming back and putting Dean in more danger than he was already in. It was his fault anyway, thats how they found him. If he had pushed Dean away at the very start then maybe he wouldn’t have...

Instead here he is, in Deans house being an utter creep. Deans in bed so he let himself in. Let himself have a wander around and get himself familiar with a house he had no intention of coming back to, ever. Dean had a few photos on the fridge, he touched the dog eared corner of one of Dean and another man, one with longer hair and a bright smile. He assumed it was his brother.

He had souvenirs from various states, none from abroad. And his home decor seemed to be mainly simplistic, homely things. It reminded him painfully of what home looked like ten-fifteen years ago. Then he found the acoustic guitar, leaning up against the wall in the corner of the living room. It looked disused, a thin layer of dust on the neck. It served to endear Dean a little more to him, somehow.

Castiel stayed clear of the bedroom, the door cracked open just a little like he’d be able to hear if someone broke in. He almost laughed, because that didn’t work very well. He found himself back in the kitchen, after familiarising himself with the house he’d never see again. It was almost his favourite room, the black and white tiles on the floor, black panelling and granite effect countertops were very Dean. The dishes didn’t match, the glasses were mismatching and mugs were all different shapes. A thrown together kitchen that Cas felt at home in, oddly enough.

A slightly tired voice behind him made Cas reach for his knife and turn, but it was only Dean. His hair all mussed, clothes rumpled and generally looking disheveled, but not in the slightest irritated to find Castiel had broken into his house at two in the morning. He yawned, asked what Cas was doing here, and Castiel shrugged. He honestly didn't know himself.

And Dean advanced on him, he backed up and surprised himself. He never backed away from anyone, not even Michael. But Dean was making his heart beat faster for some reason, his stomach tied in knots and for the first time he felt fear. Which was stupid, he carried a knife, he could hold his own in a scuffle and he could run. So why was Dean so different?

His ass hit the countertop, he was trapped now with Dean in front of him so close he can hear him fucking breathe. Even over his heart thundering in his ears. His palms are slick on the smooth counter, and Deans hands are either side of him. Why isn’t he just pushing Dean away and running? Why?

Dean says his name once and goddammit it sends a shiver down his spine. He’s so fucking close, Castiel can feel his breath on his face. One part of his brain is weighing up the odds of surviving this if it comes to a fight, Dean this close, taller than him and probably heavier, the odds aren’t good. But he’d get out alive. But then it occurs to him a fight isn’t what this tired, heavy eyed Dean wants, its quite the opposite. And he cant have it.

Cas grabbed Dean by the hip, spinning them so Dean is in his position. He was supposed to move away, but his body moved closer and his pulse is out of control and-

“ _No_ ,” he told Dean firmly. Its the only word he could manage, “No.”

“Cas-“ Dean tried to push up again, protesting quietly like he knew what he wanted. But he didn’t, he was tired and probably still dreaming. No.

He pushed Dean back gently, another murmured no, but he didn't apologise like his gut was telling him to. He didn’t go as quickly as he’d like either. He should’ve been running, not stepping backwards in an almost daze so that he hit his shoulder on the doorframe. Only then did he turn and bolt for the door, ignoring Dean calling his name. He shut the door as quietly as he could. Took the stairs two at a time down from his flat, made sure to shut the main door too. And he didn’t stop for breath until he was outside in his car, his faithful little Polo, and let out a long (strangely shuddering) breath behind the wheel.

He knew that he was probably being watched from an alley but his hands were trembling, he didn’t want to drive away just yet. Instead he stayed, thinking about what happened just then and swallowing around a weird lump in his throat.

He ran away from Dean in there. Ran away. Because he panicked under the hands of someone else. Gentle hands. Hands he trusted. If he hadn’t been such a coward would he have let Dean kiss him, and would he have kissed back? Cas internally kicked himself for even thinking about that. There’s no way in heaven or hell he’d ever be with Dean, friend or otherwise. He gets out of this in two ways, death or prison. Dean can either stay quiet or go to the police, and Castiel knew he’d gotten it in his head he wasn’t going to the cops in case Castiel went away too. He wont tell Dean, but the reason he let them beat him to a pulp is because it keeps them away from him, stops another innocent life being ruined. He rebelled for him, so he wouldn’t die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cas he's had a hard time ;A;  
> But what does the future hold for these two..?


	6. Hope Not Ever To See Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to add this one tonight, it felt wrong not to. Also, a few filler chapters to come, just to put in some unnecessary bullcrap I thought would be interesting. Also I feel theres not nearly enough Sam and Charlie soooooooo.

“Are you even going to consider college?” Sam asked for the fourth time this phone call.

Dean laughed fondly, stirring the tinned soup in the saucepan, “I told you Sammy, I’m too old.”

“You’re nearly twenty-six, Dean!” he whined, “There’s older guys here.”

He tasted the red goo on the spoon, and the tin had said tomato soup but this stuff tasted like ass. Dean briefly contemplated pouring it away down the drain, but he was hungry and he wasn’t picky. Or he never used to be before he took his life back.

“I said no, Sam,” he held the phone between his shoulder and ear, pouring the stuff into a bowl. It smelled worse than it tasted. “Concentrate on your own education.”

Sam sighed heavily and it sounded like he flopped down on a sofa or a bed, muffled voices in the background told him he wasn’t alone. Good, he had friends and he wasn’t being the little loner Dean thought he’d be.

“Fine,” Sam grumbled, “But you have to at least look at college brochures, deal?”

“If you don’t shut up about college I’m driving out there and breaking your nose,” he paused, “Or force feeding you one of Bobby’s _experiments_.”

“Just cos you’re scared of planes.”

He would never tell Sam but he was thrilled he called. They haven’t seen each other near of five years and it wasn’t likely to change but he sincerely hoped it would. He liked just knowing he was fine and still living, really.

“Shut up,” he listened to him laugh for a second and shoved the pan into the sink, “Okay, go on. Go forth and study or whatever it is stressed students do.”

“Bye, Dean,” he said and it went quiet. Dean grabbed his bowl with the potentially poisonous substance in it and made his way back to the sitting room, placing the phone in its little rest on the way. Watching TV while eating was one of his favourite activities, mindless and generic things helped him forget stuff.

When he started eating, the soup wasn’t so bad. Once he got past the bitter aftertaste it was actually okay. With half a shaker of pepper and some salt, that is. He mustve looked like every stereotypical single male with mental issues and nothing better to do, in a loose sweater and oversized grey sweatpants. All he needed was the nerdy glasses, which he possessed but rarely used as he rarely read books. His socks had holes in them and he was pretty sure Sam got them from the womens section for his Christmas present. But Dean really didn’t care, they’re warm and fluffy. A man was allowed a few creature comforts.

The old lady across the hall yelled something at the TV, probably watching Jerry Springer or some monotonous gameshow. Sometimes she invited Dean over for ‘tea and cakes’ which loosely translated to ‘come over so I can creepily stare at you for an hour and ask weird questions.’ He tried to avoid meeting her on his way in and out.

He stayed curled up in the corner of his old sofa for a while, hands inside his sleeves because it was a little chilly in here, and partly because the sweater was too big. He wanted to move, do something useful like go to work, but he’d just finished and didn’t have another shift tomorrow either. So he settled for taking the bowl through to the kitchen instead. And washing up. He put a little note on the fridge to get more soap too. Castiels index card was still there.

He worried for Cas the past little while. The last time he spoke to Cas he confessed that he’d been to Gabriels and found it a crime scene, and Michael or whoever had told him he was dead. Thats gotta sting even for Cas. He wasn’t letting himself grieve and Dean knew it, it wasn’t in his nature to show any emotion. So he worried that he might do something stupid. On his way back he glanced at the door, a habit he learned from checking locks on motel room doors just in case, and then he saw it. The small white rectangle on the floor with his name on it. He crouched by it, picking it up tentatively and there was his name in neatly written letters.

_“Hello love.”_

Thats all it said, literally the only thing on the other side of the card. And thats all it took to have Dean checking and double checking the locks on every window and door. He grabbed his phone from the kitchen table too, making himself a very large mug of coffee with just a little scotch in it, shuffling back to the sofa. There he took his time pondering over whether or not to make a call.

* * *

Castiel knew he must be dreaming because he’s in Deans car, that _gorgeous_ Impala.

Second thing he noticed was Dean sitting close to him, so tantalisingly close. He was definitely dreaming because the mans hand is on his thigh, and it doesn’t feel wrong. Those long fingers, freckled skin and sturdy wrists. He thought because its a dream its okay for him to touch. To pick up that hand between his own fingers and feel its weight. And gosh it was warm, it felt rough at the fingertips and was calloused like from a lifetime of holding guns to peoples heads. Or maybe thats just him.

Dean nudged closer on the seat, using one hand to unbutton Castiels shirt enough that it showed his collarbones, “Dunno why you button it right up.”

Dad always taught him to, said whats the point of the extra buttons if you’re not gonna use them? Dean, he noticed, tended to open his not too far but enough to show off his neck, not enough to see his chest though. Not that Castiel paid much attention of course. Then Dean turned Castiel toward him with a gentle hand on his face, and his soft smile and kind eyes were right there. He leaned in like Dean had last week, unafraid now because it’s only a dream, because he was curious, infinitely curious of those inviting lips.

And to his irrational relief, Dean kissed him back. Cas’ stomach flipped and he vowed that he would never tell anyone about this, even if it was just fantasy. Dean teased at his lip with his teeth and dear god he half wished he was in a coma and he’d never wake up. But you know what they say about wishful thinking. It only tempts fate. As Deans hand wandered from his, slipping inside his shirt, fate decided to manifest itself.

He jerked awake, hitting his head on the door handle in the back seat of his car and nearly fell into the footwell. Its cold, he’s alone and he’s sore from the awkward position he was forced to sleep in on the seat of his little Polo. He cursed in something that wasn’t English, reaching for his ringing phone in his back pocket which was a fucking chore since he was still tangled up in the thin blanket covering his legs. He looked at the caller ID, Dean. Its eleven twenty-two in the morning, he’d slept in a little then. He contemplated not answering for a moment, then answered anyway. He’d forgotten the dream already.

* * *

 

Castiel confuses him. A lot.

He comes and goes, but now he never speaks to him more than texting and maybe a short phonecall. He seems to be distancing himself from Dean. Its probably one of his ventures to keep The Rapture away from him. It wont work, it hasn’t. And Deans scared for him more than he is himself. He cant let Cas go down for nothing. He has a future past this, he could be something bigger and what he really wants. He really doesn’t see what Castiels problem is with it. But at least he’s staying alive, right? He hasn’t come to him broken and battered, Dean hasn’t seen any bruises.

He sometimes stands under the streetlamp outside and looks up at Deans kitchen window, quickly scurrying away like a little mouse. But a mouse he most definitely is not.

The thing with the painkillers four weeks ago had pushed Castiel to his limits. Dean had seen how scared he was and he still asked him for more. He might not be going to hospitals anytime soon but at least he’d be more comfortable if he got hurt and had to be patched up again. If he could bring himself to take them that is.

One thing was for sure, Dean was a little pissed off. He broke into his house a week ago, and when Dean tried to, well, he didn’t really  know what he’d accomplish through that, he’d run off. He’d left Dean standing in his kitchen listening to the door shut and his feet going down the stairwell. And he’d just sat outside in his Polo for about half an hour staring at his fists on the steering wheel before driving off to god knows where.

Each time he asked when Castiel was free he only replied that he was sorry and he couldn't. Most days he didn’t answer his phone. Today was an exception, apparently.

“Why do you keep calling me, Dean?” he asked, sounding a little tired. In fact, like he’d just woken up, even though it was like quarter past eleven. Thats basically halfway though the day.

He sighed, “Lately, I don’t actually know.”

Cas grumbled something in Romanian, Dean had learned to recognise the different languages after discovering that half the things he said were insults along the lines of 'fucking moron', “Well if you’re still worried about the small problem of the Rapture then my best advice to you would be to- to stop contacting me.”

He caught the hesitation there, Cas probably hoped he missed it.

“What-“ Dean paused, then it clicked, “Is this you saying you don’t want to talk anymore?”

“No, Dean thats not... I’m thinking about you here. Its not that I- I don’t want to...” he groaned and something soft was punched, “I wish I could see you.”

Dean ignored the little flutter in his chest because he didnt mean it like _that_ , “Then what- last week.”

“What?”

“Last week. Is this about last week?”

Dean picked at the threads of his worn couch. After this he should probably call his brother, tell him he’s sorry for everything. Tell him about his unlikely friend, say how amazing he is despite appearances. Maybe tell him to look after him. He’ll give his car to Bobby because if this thing goes pearshaped then he wont be needing her anymore. Cas would probably say his idea was stupid and handcuff him to the radiator just to be sure. In fact, it was if he was honest. Usually talking to psychopathic druglords didnt work.

“What?” Cas said in a low voice, “You- you think I’m keeping my distance because you-?”

“Well its what it looks like.”

Cas scoffed, “You- You can be so _full_ of yourself, you know that?“

“Me? Full of-”

 “I’m not staying away just because you, the _amazing_ Dean Winchester made a move,” Cas was getting growly, “I have my own goddamn reasons.”

“Well tell me!”

Cas sighed, muttered to himself. He hit something again, not so soft this time, “No.”

He could see Cas fiddling with his silver ring he wore on his right hand. The one engraved with Enochian on the inside and ivy twisting round the outside. He never did tell Dean where he got it. And he thought he never would. Either it hurt too much or he thought it didn’t matter. Dean was still morbidly curious about it though, and wondered if it had some sort of meaning or whatever.

“Okay,” Dean grit his teeth and made up his mind, “Okay. Fine. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Where are you-“

“Goodbye, Cas.”


	7. Born To Fly Upward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for Violence and blatant quoting of canon

The man dropped his phone when a hand came over his mouth and a flipknife blade pressed against the hollow of his throat, it broke when it hit the sidewalk.

“I suggest you go home, sir,” the attacker mumbled in his ear with a warning tone to his voice, releasing him and shoving him in the other direction. That left Dean alone with the man still holding the knife and a face like thunder.

“Cas,” he clenched his fists, about to launch into a tirade about how it was none of his business, “What the-“

Cas full on growled at him and grabbed the front of his jacket, swinging him into the alley to his right, he heard more than felt the sickening crack where his head hit the wall.

“I rebelled for this?!” Cas is yelling, his blue eyes furious, burning, “So that you could surrender to them?”

He’s pressed against the cold, damp wall that smells like rot and his head’s buzzing from the impact he’s just starting to feel. He might actually be bleeding but maybe it’s just the damp from the slimy wall. Either way he did not see this coming.

He’d taken every precaution to make sure Cas didn’t know. He was desperate, saw no other solution. Hell they’re both desperate. Maybe Cas is even more than he first thought.

“Cas, please-“ he tries feebly but Cas smacks him against the wall again and the breath is knocked out of him.

“I gave _everything_ for you! And this is what you give to me!?”

He’s never seen Cas this angry before, he usually kept it reigned in, whatever he felt. Maybe thats why it made Dean want to shrink away to nothing, because when Cas did let it out it was a fucking tsunami of power. Dean spared a look to the side, but no one will have heard them no matter how loud Cas is yelling. In this neighbourhood fights are common and no one cares. A body’s just another body. A woman walked by not even glancing their way.

“How was it everything?” Dean dared to ask, “They had you chained to them, thats not a family!”

“No, but it was a life! Now I’ve got _nothing_ , Dean! My car, my knife, thats it!”

Cas stepped back, breathing heavily with a snarl on his lips and Dean thought he was letting him go, but his fist smacked him again and again. He tried to plead him to stop, but Cas wouldn’t listen. So he just let him have his way. Cas is a far better fighter than Dean, he could go for hours and come out with little more than bruises.

Now he’s on the floor, he doesn’t think he can stand if he wanted to. Blood is running from his nose, his split lip, and his jaw hurts as much as his stomach does. So he turns his face up to Cas, his heart leaps into his throat and his stomach enters hell when his fingers push the little button that flicks the blade out on his knife. He doesn’t doubt Cas will do it, he’s probably done it before. He just never knows with Cas. He swallows around the lump in his throat and holds Cas’ cold gaze.

“Do it,” he grits out, “C’mon!”

Cas doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak. Just stares like always, and its unnerving.

“What are you, scared?” Dean knows he’s playing with fire, but if Cas is going to kill him he’d rather he did it quick than stand on ceremony like this, “Just do it!”

Cas’ lip curls up in another snarl and he twirls the knife in his hand, throws it up to catch it in his left. Then he’s drawing his arm back, fingers curled into a fist, his ring glinting in the dim light, and its black.

* * *

_“...happened to him?”_

_“Me.”_

Dean slowly wakes up. He hadn’t expected to wake up actually. But he is, and he cant smell anything but blood. He tries to move his hands but they’re stuck together with something thin and hard. He doesn’t open his eyes yet. Whoever is carrying him dumps him down on a soft thing, he slumps bonelessly.

“Who the hell are you?” he recognises this voice as Bobby, so he’s at Bobby’s then.

“Yeah, and why the hell did you zip-tie my brother?” Sam. The brother he hasn’t seen since dads funeral five years ago because he ran like a coward.

He can practically feel the tension between the people in the room, so he tries opening his eyes as someone explains.

“He was doing something extremely stupid,” Cas’ voice grumbled, “Believe me, this is nowhere near as bad as what could have happened.”

Castiel is standing in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen, he looks out of place here. Sam towers over him still, and Bobby in his wheelchair has to crane his neck to get a look at him. Dean’s vision is still blurry, and everything is like an echo. His own blood dried on his face makes every movement of his mouth feel stiff, he just wants to get it washed off. Dean can just see the tip of Cas’ tattoo from under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and he remembers the wings stretching over his shoulderblades and how well done they were. Obviously by a skilled artist.

“Why should we trust you,” Sam is doing that thing he does, advancing on Cas and just expecting him to back up because he’s bigger, but the man holds his ground, “When you brought us Dean like that? You zip-tied his hands!”

Cas stared him down and to Deans utter surprise, Sam backs off, “Because Dean was about to try and talk into submission one of this states most dangerous gangs because he was too stupid to just leave well alone.”

Sam stands slack jawed staring at Cas like he doesn’t believe it while Bobby calls horseshit, and Cas shoves his hands in his pockets.

“They kidnapped him months ago for all of four hours and suddenly he thinks its his job to deal with them,” he elaborates, “He’s a goddamn idiot.”

Sam links his fingers behind his head and laughs incredulously, wandering around the kitchen for a second, “You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you?”

“Its true,” Dean finally rasps from his corner, everyone turns their heads, “Cas do me a favour and get this fucking zip-tie off my wrists, wouldya?”

Cas is completely stoic as he kneels in front of Dean and uses his little blade to cut through the plastic, holding his hands in his long fingers almost tenderly. Dean swears he gave them a little reassuring squeeze, looking him dead in the eyes before helping him stand from the window seat. He stood behind Deans shoulder while he leaned on the doorframe, partly out of his weak knees, and explained. The whole shebang. All the while he had to look at Sams disbelieving and also furious face, body language, everything. And Bobby muttered about it, running his hand through his thinning hair and resetting his hat.

Its a huge mess. How did he even get involved, how did they find him?

“I don’t believe this,” Sam muttered, “I don’t fucking believe this- why didn’t you just call the cops, are you _insane_?”

“I-“

“Its a fucking drugs cartel, Dean! How the _hell_ did you even consider it!?”

“I’m trying to figure this out-“

Sam smacks a hand on the tabletop and its so sudden he can feel even Cas flinching behind him, he can see him probably going for his knife too out of habit. “No, Dean! You’re being stupid and you know it!”

He turned around, fist clenched and Dean thought he was gonna put it through the door but he spun back to Dean pointing an accusing finger at him, “I meant what I said. At dads funeral. You’re just like him and you’ll _never_ change, Dean!”

He storms out then, grabbing his coat and the keys to his crappy Nova. The next thing he hears is the tyres crunching on the gravel of the lot outside. Bobby throws him an almost sympathetic look and wheels past him to his desk. He knows where he’s going, knows who he’s calling as he reaches for the phone. Dean lunges for the handset, smacking it back down on the receiver.

“Dont even think about calling the police,” he begs Bobby, “Please. I swear-“

“Why not, boy?”

Dean sighs, hangs his head. He looks to Cas for a second, “Cas can you give us a minute?”

The man nods once, “I’ll be outside.”

He waits until the door shuts before he begins explaining this outrageous thing. He wishes he knew how to, though.

“I don’t know how they found me,” he fights the feeling of panic in his chest to speak normally, “But they have and its dangerous for all of us, okay? But we cant call the police.”

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice is softer than before, “Just tell me.”

He swallows around the fear, “Because if the police find the Rapture then they find Cas.”

Bobby’s eyes go wide and he looks toward the door Cas went through, “He’s-“

“He made mistakes!”

“Everyone makes mistakes, he should-“

“I made mistakes, Bobby. Dad made mistakes, what makes him different?” He paused, looking at Cas outside on the porch, “He was a kid, a stupid kid.”

The man looked like he wanted to tell Dean to get a grip because there’s probably a hundred more just like Cas who should all go away, why was this kid different? And Dean isn’t able to answer that one yet. He doesn’t know exactly why he trusts Cas. He knows that what Bobby sees when he looks at him is the man who beat up and zip-tied his adopted nephew, not the kid who was swept up in a whirlwind of bad and forced to do horrific things. He doesn’t see the good parts of him, not yet.

* * *

 

Castiel sometimes went to church. He went to the Christmas and Easter services, and the rare Sundays in between. He liked it there, it made him feel closer to his dad. The missionary, the teacher, the one who showed Castiel all he knew. Who showed him all he believed, or didnt. He didnt know anymore.

The Rosary that belonged to his mother, made by her own hand, weighed heavy on his wrist as he made his way down the aisle in the quaint little church, bright stained glass windows casting a rainbow of colours on his skin. He sat in the pew illuminated by the blue and white of the Virgin Mary, and he held the beads as tight as he dared to still the gnawing anxious feeling in his gut, and he prayed. He prayed for the first time in months, and he prayed for forgiveness.

"Forgive me my sins, O Lord; forgive me the sins of my youth and the sins of mine age, the sins of my soul and the sins of my body, my secret and my whispering sins, the sins I have done to please myself and the sins I have done to please others. Forgive those sins which I know, and the sins which I know not; forgive them, O Lord, forgive them all of Thy great goodness-"

"Amen," an unfamiliar voice finished for him, and he spun to find the priest standing at the end of the pew watching him with a kind smile. His heart still beat at a million miles an hour. He thought the church had been empty, if he'd known...

The aging man tilted his head in a curious way, "You were praying for forgiveness. Would it be too intrusive to ask why?"

Castiel breathed a moment, before sighing quietly. He ran the Rosary through his fingers, feeling the etched designs on each of the beads. "I did some terrible, terrible things."

The priest sat beside him on the deep red cushions on the pew, taking a bible into his lap and holding it there. "Dont we all?"

"Except I put someone else in danger," he confessed, thinking this should technically be done in a confessional but the priest didnt seem to mind, "And other things."

The priest nodded almost to himself, then pointed to the Rosary, "That is a beautiful Rosary," his comment made Castiel look down at it and smile, "Yours, I presume. You knew that prayer word for word."

He shrugged, "It was my mothers, she and my father were missionaries."

He remembered traveling with them, everywhere in Europe you could think of. In fact, everywhere in the world. He knew prayers in Swahili, Latin, Czech, Filipino, you name it he knew it. Each culture they visited seemed to be keen to educate the missionaries eager to learn son. Before he left he had a box full of Rosaries from everywhere, and he wanted to take them all, but he chose his mothers because it was all he had left of her. That and his fathers ring. They connected him to home.

"I knew a couple of missionaries from New Jersey, once," the priest mused, a smile creating creases at the corners of his eyes. "The most enthusiastic people you ever met. They had a boy too, what was his name... Clarence or something. Luckiest kid in the world." 

Castiel was tempted to correct him, tell the priest the boys name was Castiel, and how far he'd fallen. Instead he agreed with the priest and brought the Rosary to his lips for a fleeting moment. The old man didnt miss it and just smiled again. He was kind, didnt ask more of Castiel, and was content to sit in silence with him for a while. He ran his fingers over the bible on his lap. It seemed as much of a comfort blanket as the Rosary was to Castiel.

But eventually though, he did leave. And Castiel was alone. He gazed up at the crucifix hanging above the altar and asked it why he had to suffer like this. Why he had to lie to everyone he met just to protect them. He bowed his head once again, resting it on his fists still clutching the Rosary like a lifeline. His only tie to the faith he had left, hanging by a goddamn thread over a flame. How long until it broke?


	8. Lost Are We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for thoughts of suicide, panic attacks and implied violence
> 
> This is again mainly a Cas central chapter, and we see a little of his past here. I'll make the next one Dean central to make up for it, methinks. Please slap me on the wrist if theres a trigger I've missed or I made an accidental plothole or error, we've had to edit this a lot and sometimes you miss things.

Every time he came in here, the _Beautiful Room_ was what they called it, he felt like he was walking into a lions den. A beautiful room was not what it was at all. It was a derelict warehouse where they set up a few sofa’s, coffee tables, and thats it. As soon as he walked in the door all he could smell was cheap perfume and booze. In a far corner a dude has a hooker with her legs around his waist up against the wall and she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying it at all. In another some poor girl is being hastily undressed by a snot nosed brat who looks like he hasn’t seen a set of tits in his life. Cas hated this place with all his soul. From the groupies with the weed and the drunkards to the guys who have literally no boundaries about screwing someone in full view of everyone else.

He remembered the first time he ever came in here, he’d said to Michael “This is a den of iniquity” and the man had laughed and lit another cigarette. Back then he was still the straight-A kid who had never shed someone elses blood. What he wouldn’t give to go back. He’d always wanted to go to college, get a degree in something. Become a teacher. Now if he got out of this alive, if the police got to him he’d have his very own criminal record and no one would let him teach. If he’d just stayed in school none of this would have happened.

“Cassie!” Balthazar crowed in his poncey English accent like he hadn’t joined in beating him weeks ago, “ _Daaarling_ its been an age!”

“You’re drunk,” he said when the man draped himself over Cas and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “Again.”

“Pfft,” he waved him off, “Lighten up. Just this morning I had a ménage a...” he frowned deeply, swirling his scotch, “Whats the French for twelve?”

Cas laughed, but screwed his nose up as he walked away. The man had an addiction to almost everything possible, including sex. But he was smart too. He could cook, he read things like War and Peace, hell he was intelligent. His only downfall being this. Cas pitied him sometimes. In fact, the man had been like an uncle to him, then he started drinking even more, and everything else...he lost a good friend, or an ally.

He looked up and saw Lucifer up on the bridge, watching him walk across the floor. He saluted Cas, leaning on the handrail with a bottle of something in his hand. Probably wine, he disliked anything but wine. Cas continued on his way to Michael at the other side of the crowded warehouse, trying to shake off the feeling he was being watched.

It wasn’t crowded in the sense of people, it was filled with boxes and boxes of things. Weird things like faked paintings, sculptures, anything they could pawn off to art dealers for some quick cash. Balthazar handled that bit. The mechanics of it used to be handled by Gabriel, but he disappeared two months ago. Now Lucifer handled most of it and Michael just served as a sovereign. A face to the name. They fought all the time of course. Thats what brothers did.

Michael lounged in his armchair with a tumbler of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He smiled sickeningly sweetly at Cas when he came to kneel by his chair. Thats how this worked. Cas had a status, but not to Michael. The man offered him a cigarette, and even though he hated the things he took one. A bluff of solidarity. Dean hated the smell of the cigarettes on him, now he’d know he went back.

“You’ve been missed, Castiel,” he said just loud enough for Cas to hear. Cas wanted to flinch when he carded his fingers through his hair like he was some pet, “Where have you been?”

“On a holiday,” he snarked, knowing he’d be punished in some way, “Small town, called Screwyou.”

The hand in his hair tightened and yanked back, exposing his throat, and the cigarette hit the floor. Cas’ heart thundered in his ears, anticipation of a beating of some sort, maybe he’d get off lightly. Yes, this is what I want. He needed out of his head, he was so fucking angry at Dean for even thinking about coming here he wanted-

“You’re a little grumpy today,” Michael said in that ever soft tone, “Do I need to remind you who you’re talking to?”

They’d evidently decided to be a little stricter with him. They’d given him a pretty long leash in the past, longer than most. Maybe because he’d been good to them and volunteered for the suicide runs and still came back alive. How times changed.

“Bite me,” he spat, because he just didn’t care anymore.

The taller man stood up, Cas fought not to cry out when he was pulled up by his hair. He bared his teeth, every inch of him telling him to break Michaels arm, escape somehow, but its too late now. He wanted a beating to remind him who he belonged to, not some guy who got himself wrapped up in their circle and couldn’t even hold a decent fight.

Michaels lips brushed his ear, “I’ll do much more than that, Castiel. I think this conversation is better had outside.

* * *

He limped back to Deans place in the dead of night, pouring rain, and its stupid. He shouldn’t have come here, he’s putting both of them in danger by turning up on his doorstep.   


Cas knew what Dean must’ve thought, Cas standing there with one hand holding his arm close against his body, blood on his face and down his torn clothes. He’d lost the button on his jeans, the belt had been used to truss up his hands. Probably to beat him with at some point but he’s pretty sure he passed out for that one.

He smiled sheepishly, saying it before Dean did. “I look like shit, huh?”

“You idiot,” Dean breathed, cursing under his breath. He grabbed a handful of Cas’ shirt and tugged him inside, “Why’d you go get yourself beat up?”

“For kicks,” he stood awkwardly in the hallway as Dean brushed by him, motioning for him to follow. And he toddled on behind like a little duckling to Deans bathroom, where he sat up on the counter for Dean. “Do I get a sticker, Doctor Dean?” He was so tempted to call him Doctor Sexy because of that stupid show he watched, but that might not end well.

“Shut up,” he watched Dean rummage through the first aid kit with his eye that wasn’t closing up. Everything hurt from his head to his ass, he didn’t know how he’d sleep tonight without being knocked out. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Like, one,” he shrugged, then realised that was a bad idea when a pathetic little whimper escaped him. If this was getting off  lightly he had to try that again, see what else he got.

“Its three forty in the morning,” Dean told him while soaking an old washcloth in warm water.

“Then why are you awake?”

“Would you be able to sleep in my situation?”

He had a point. Dean asked him to get his shirt off so he could get at the cuts and grazes better, and it was hard. The blood dried, sticking the fabric to him like superglue. Not like he hasn’t been here before, he just hasn’t had someone to look after him, patch him up.  The antiseptic stung. They’d left him in a muddy puddle outside the warehouse after they ‘roughed him up’ which meant he was covered in dirt and smelled like a sewer. He’d probably tracked dirt through Deans house too, he felt like he should apologise for that too.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly while Dean dabbed at his various cuts and scrapes. “I didn’t- I really have nowhere else to go, y’know? You’re my only friend.”

Deans smile was brief but there, “Shh,” he held Cas’ chin in his gentle fingers, “I need to see.”

The water in the sink was turned red-brown by the time Dean finished with him. He let Cas alone to shower with a promise to do the butterfly stitches when he was done. The water stung his back, his arms, everywhere there were abrasions. And Deans soap didn’t help either, but at least it didn’t smell like sweat and gasoline. Each minute he spent leaning against the shower wall was another he contemplated just shoving his clothes back on and running for the hills. Or rather, back to Michael to ask him to beat sense into him. The pull of Dean was greater though. Castiel was selfish and Deans kindness was like chum to a shark.

Dean had apparently left him a set of sweats on the side, and a clean smelling towel that was so warm Cas could’ve just wrapped himself in it and not cared about the clothes. These things were a luxury compared to the places he stayed in the past. Of course Dean would have Batman t-shirts. The sweats were just plain grey. But they smelled like Dean, it was heavenly almost. Well, considering he associated Deans nice, homey smell with gentle touches, kind words and everything the opposite of what the Rapture gave him, it was pretty damn alright with him. Even if he didn’t deserve it, even after he knocked Dean for six in that alley.

He spent a minute fingering the hem of the wear-softened shirt, thinking how it was just a little big on him and how it seemed to be one of Deans favourites. Smiling hurt. He followed his nose to the kitchen because he could smell something being cooked that seemed way more appetising than greasy take outs. Dean hovered over the stove, stirring a pan of something with a wooden spoon. Now Cas noticed he was wearing comic book sound effect printed pyjama pants, finding it oddly endearing.

He took a seat at the table where Dean had the first aid kit and riffled through it, just being nosey. Reading the generic labels on the supplies was weirdly calming. He found the butterfly stitches, setting them out for Dean. Usually he wouldn’t bother with this, probably why he had so many badly healed scars from cuts that got infected and ones that didn’t close properly.

Dean came over then, picking up the stitches to read the instructions. Cas tipped his head up for him and he started sticking his eyebrow back together.

“This isn’t gonna be the last time I do this, is it?”

Cas shut his eyes and huffed a sigh, he had an overwhelming urge to just press his sore face into Deans stomach and hide from the world. But he didn’t. Instead he felt for the soft fabric of Deans shirt and hooked his fingers into it. “Probably not. I’m sorry, I’m stupid.”

Dean grumbled, packing away the first aid stuff and pushing it aside, “Stop saying that, Cas.”

He frowned, “Saying what?”

“That you’re stupid,” Dean divided the stuff in the pan into two bowls, “You’re not stupid.”

“If I hadn’t hung around then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Of course I’m stupid.”

Dean placed the bowl down in front of him, handing him a fork. Macaroni cheese was apparently on the menu at four in the morning. “You’re not stupid, you’re a friggin’ genius.”

“Maybe before-“

“Listen,” he gripped Cas’ wrist tightly, “I’m sorry too. I could’ve stayed away from that bar. I could’ve went straight to the police. But you would’ve gone to prison, Cas. None of this is your fault, you tried to stay away, yeah?” he nodded, “But I dragged you back. I’m the stupid one. You’re a genius, so when we get you out of this, you’re going to go back to school. For me, okay?”

“If I get out of this mess,” he countered, “I’ll almost certainly be going to prison, god knows how long I’ll be in there. You know how this ends, Dean.”

Dean let his wrist go and sat back. He knew how this would pan out. Either he called the cops and Cas went away or he didn’t and Michael eventually killed them both. End of story. It ended horribly no matter how you looked at it. Dean pushed his macaroni around the bowl, occasionally eating a piece or two. Cas had been hungry but now he had the thoughts of prison floating round his head he didn’t feel so much like eating. He wondered what mom and dad would think of him now, would they pity him or disown him? Either way they’d be disappointed in him.

He used to have so much going for him, now he’s just another scumbag doomed for life behind bars. Its his own fault really, his own stupid fault. He was sort of glad Dean didn’t ask why he’d went back, because he didn’t really know. He’d wanted to get smacked around a bit, but he could’ve gotten that anywhere. It always came back down to The Rapture, didn’t it?

* * *

_ Castiel stared at the box of Rosaries on the side table in his room. Suddenly, he resented them. He fucking hated them. He hated God because He didnt save her. He lashed out and the box flew off the table, beads and crosses scattering across the floor with an unholy clatter as it took a few ornaments and a can of deodorant with it. It made a mess. Oh God the mess, what if dad got angry, he'd get mad at Castiel and he'd yell and- _

_ He couldnt breathe, he pulled on his hair and his breath tore at his throat as he fell to his knees. And he began to cry angry tears because if God was good, like he'd been taught his whole life, why didnt He save her? All these miracles and he couldnt save her from a bus crash? Or the four kids who died? But He'd just turned a blind eye to it all and let her fucking die. Castiels sobs echoed in the room. The tugging on his hair hurt. He couldnt breathe.  _

_ He'd taken down the crucifix two days ago, yesterday he burned it. If God didnt care anymore why should he? _

_ Dads arm came around his shoulders but his words didnt reach Castiels ears. His mouth moved but he didnt hear a word. The panic in his chest kept giving him scenarios, substituting what he didnt know with things like how his mother cried for help, feeding the anxiety with his fear. She always helped him through his panics, dad didnt know how. He uselessly rubbed a hand over his back, pulling Castiel tight against his chest. But Castiel was suffocating, he felt like he'd vomit any second. A pathetic cry escaped him that sounded like a strangled attempt at the word 'Mom.'  _

_ Its all his fault. Somehow, its his fault. Maybe if he'd stayed home, played at being sick, she'd have stayed and made him chicken soup and wouldnt have even been near that bus.  _

_ "Castiel!" his dad called out, "Please! I'm trying, I dont-" _

_ Then he started crying too, clutching at Castiel, rocking them both on the floor with tears soaking Castiels hair. His heart still raced, a hand of ice still constricted his chest, someone was sucking all the oxygen from his brain, dad didnt know how to stop Castiels panic attacks, Castiel didnt know what she did, only she did. And she was gone. He let out a halfhearted scream into the shoulder of dads shirt, now soaked with his own tears, and threw a pathetically weak punch that glanced off his dads chest, and another. He was still in the throes of his attack, but the grief was so overpowering, and it actually fed the anxiety even more only serving to worsen his situation. He was so angry and desperate and scared. His dad tried to soothe, telling him he knows, Castiel, he knows and hushed him between words as they sat surrounded by the scattered memories of her in wood and plastic and metal, it only made things worse.  
_

_ What God left a family this broken? _

* * *

It’s been a week since Cas came to him broken and bloody. A week since he saw him last. But he didn’t really expect anything else from him. He hasn’t seen his brother in three weeks, bar one phone call to say he was being an idiot, he’d had no contact. That he did not expect. Another thing he didn’t expect was to see Cas out on the sidewalk in his usual jeans and hoodie, stumbling along like he was drunk. He pulled up to the kerb and crawled along until Cas looked up and yep, he was drunk as hell. He leaned on the car with one hand, a half smile on his face.

“Heya Deano,” he slurred, “How’s doin’?”

“Are you drunk?” Cas straightened at Deans accusation like he was proving he wasn’t.

“No,” he swayed, catching himself on the car again, “Yes.”

“Cas what the hell?” he hissed, “Get in, I am not leaving you like this.”

He rolled his eyes and yanked the door open, “Yes mom.”

Dean watched him fumble with the seatbelt for a second before deciding that bringing him home was the best idea in this situation. He’d never handled Cas drunk before, he didn’t know if he was violent. But he definitely couldn’t leave him for Michael to find again. And as far as he knew Michael had no idea that Cas had been visiting Dean on and off for the past few months.

He had to actually help Cas up the steps to his flat, letting him go when he pushed Deans hands away insisting he could do it. Dean knew full well he carried knives, he’d very nearly become victim to one. He didn’t want Cas to stab him drunk and regret it when he sobered. Dean asked him where he’d been for the past week and all he got was a half sarcastic and definitely irritable reply of “On a bender” in his usual gravely tone.

In the quiet of his house, Dean heard Cas mumbling under his breath in what he thought was Romanian. Its nearly always Romanian, it was a sort of comfort blanket to him. He sat Cas down on his couch and brought him some water which he downed. The man looked nothing but regretful now, maybe even sorrowful. Cas shrugged off his hoodie, hanging it on the arm of the sofa.

“Why’d you go get yourself shitfaced, Cas? And don’t say _for kicks_ like you usually do.”

He scowled at the floor between his feet, taking out his little knife and rolling it between his palms. He didn’t flick the blade out, instead passed it from hand to hand carefully.

“I thought it’d make this easier,” he mumbled, “Killing myself.”

Deans stomach tied itself in knots as he watched Cas’ hands play with the object, “Christ, Cas. Please tell me you’re-“

“Its either going to prison or back to Michael,” he babbled on with a slight whine, “I cant go to prison, Dean, and I don’t want to go back to Michael- I don’t see another way-“

Cas broke off, gripping the knife in his hand tightly. He was biting his lip so hard Dean thought it’d draw blood, but he also saw his eyes brimming with tears, “I was wrong. The booze just makes this harder.”

“Cas,” Dean said softly, covering his shaking hands with his own. He could see the scared little kid in him now. The first tears fell, Cas’ whole body shook, and Dean had no idea what to do.

“I-I was on my way to the bridge w-when you picked me up,” he stammered, rivers of tears running freely now like he just couldn’t stop. “I thought-“

“Shh,” he hushed, “Castiel, shh.”

Cas choked as Dean gently pried his fingers away from the knife. To Deans surprise, Cas let him do it even with his muscles tense and trembling.

“I don’t wanna go to prison Dean,” he sobbed, “I want to go to school, I wanna be a teacher, I don’t want to die! _Cristos_!”

Cas buried his face in his hands with a mournful cry, (“ _ajută-mă te rog, eu nu pot_ -“ or something like that. Apparently Cas babbled gibberish in other languages when he was drunk and upset) sobbing his heart out in Deans dim living room. It occurred to Dean that finally, this was Cas opening up to him, even if he was drunk. And he’d tire himself out and probably pass out on the couch. But right now he was awake and hurting, so Dean wound an arm round his shoulders where he knew the wing tattoo graced his skin. No matter how much Cas hated it, the heavily detailed feathers suited him. Cas leaned on him, letting the shuddering sobs wrack his chest and shake the both of them.

“Shh,” Dean tried again, “You’re okay, I’m here Cas. We’ll figure it out, I promise. You’ll go to college. C’mon, tell me, where’d you get your ring?.”

Cas took a few steadying breaths, but the odd sob still escaped now and then, and he twisted the ring as he spoke slowly. “I- it was dads. Mom gave it to him for their anniversary.” His lip quivered as he thought about it, “Christ, Dean it was their fifteenth anniversary two days before the crash-“

“Dont talk about the bus.” He couldn’t help himself, combing his fingers through Cas’ mussed hair, “Talk about her.”

He forced Cas to look up from his palms, pulling the sleeve of his shirt down to dry his cheeks as he spoke about her. He told Dean about her long dark hair, how she’d sing while she cooked. The things she’d sing to him. He slipped in and out of English sometimes, but Dean understood most of it. His eyes lit up a little when he talked about his mom, thats what Dean was aiming for. To distract him.

“She’s why you want to be a teacher, isn’t it?” he asked, brushing away a stray tear. Cas sniffled, nodding. “You were lucky to have her.”

“I want her back Dean,” he said childishly. He looked up with some painful realisation, fresh tears ready to fall, “I want my mom. _Și fratele meu_ , Dean. I wish I’d never...”

Even though he didn’t understand some of the things he said, Dean felt something tug at his heart the way Cas looked like such a lost child, wide blue eyes and scruffy hair. This is what Cas hid away behind the muscle and the snark, the lonely kid who made the wrong decision. Dean was pretty sure he was the first to see that side of Cas in a long time.

He let Cas wrap his arms around his neck, bury his head in the fabric at his shoulder. He mumbled apologies, a long string of words that Dean didn’t understand, his breath reeked of cheap beer and whiskey and Dean could do nothing but hold him while he wore himself out. He ran a hand over Cas’ back, reassuring him he was still here. He kind of half hoped that Castiel was getting it out of his system about Gabriel too. That at least some of this was for Gabe because hell, he needed to. If Dean mentioned Gabriel he’d snap at him or hang up, or just plain ignore him. He was angry and sad and Dean wished he’d man the fuck up about it and face the fact he missed him and was sad he was dead.

He wasn’t sure how late it was, definitely after nine PM, when he threw the quilt from the back of the sofa over Cas’ body. He looked so vulnerable, a sharp contrast to his usual sarcastic and confident demeanour. The main difference being he was open. Open in this display of emotions Dean had never seen before, he could read Castiel like he’d never been able to. He decided then, right there, that he wouldn’t let Cas go to prison. Whatever it took. 

* * *

The first thing Cas did when he woke up was run for the bathroom.  Evidently for all his tough talk he couldn’t stomach his alcohol. So Dean informed him there was a spare toothbrush under the sink he could use and left him to throw up his guts.

He fixed Cas a bowl of Cheerios, leaving the milk out for him. Maybe he was hungry, maybe he wasn’t. He didn’t want to be a bad host. When he reappeared, looking sick but claiming he was in fact hungry, he asked where the painkillers were for his headache which was a first. He was sort of proud of him for it. And he did ask Dean if he spoke any English at all last night, explaining it was a recurring thing. The first time he got pissed he spoke every language but his mother tongue of English, they both laughed a little at that but sobered soon enough.

“We’re going to Bobby’s tomorrow,” he emphasised the ‘we’ part, “We’re gonna figure out what to do.”

Cas shrugged, picking at his cereal, “Okay. But not much we can do.”

“You underestimate my family.”

“And you underestimate the Rapture,” Cas bit back, some of his fire returning after last night.

Dean leaned forward on the table, “I am not letting you go to prison.”

He thought he saw something like anger in Cas, but it faded and he was left with maybe a tiny flicker of hope and, maybe, gratitude. Cas was hard to read, even for Dean. He always had been. But thats Cas, an open book written in invisible ink, in another language. Slowly but surely, he’s learning to speak Castiel.

“You can borrow a shirt from me,” he said quietly, rising to put his bowl in the sink and go get dressed, and Cas caught his hand on the way past.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, “For last night. I...dont know if I’d still be here if you hadn’t...”

Dean squeezed his hand back, giving him a smile, “We all need a little help. You’re no exception.”

* * *

Dean let him lie on the couch and sleep off his hangover. He deeply regretted drinking that much last night. And he was also deeply grateful for Deans kindness. It was a sympathy he didn’t deserve. Dean went to work, making him swear to stay here until he got back. This time he wouldn’t move.

His headache was starting to return, and the only thing stopping him getting more asprin was either laziness or cowardice. The TV was crap, nothing interested him. So he got up and wandered, just like he had ages ago when he broke in. Except this time he was welcome and he was wearing Deans old sweatpants and a shirt with a goldfish on. He took his time in the hallway, looking at the framed pictures on the little chest of drawers that held stationery and various take out menus. The two steps up took him to the landing with the bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. Deans bedroom seemed like a forbidden place, but he was bored so he braved the unknown.

It was decorated in blues, and looked like a teenagers room actually. Some clothes lay on the floor, but it was otherwise neat. Posters were stuck on the walls and on the back of the door hung several hoodies and a worn leather jacket. And it smelled like Dean, a mixture of his cologne and deodorant. He really quite liked that smell, familiar and safe somehow.

The double bed in the centre of the far wall, under the window, was unmade, so Castiel took the liberty of making it for him. Dean had a record player and a box full of old classic rock records that looked used. He seemed to be a fan of Led Zepplin. Castiel sat on the bed, feeling like he was intruding but the larger part of him didn’t care. On the bedside table Dean kept a photograph in grayscale of a woman, light haired and quite beautiful, with two boys. One in her arms and one at her shoulder. Dean never talked about his mother, he guessed it was a tender subject.

In the bedside table’s drawer he found a box of the most stereotypical items for a man to have there and a bottle of unlabeled clear stuff. He was hopeful then, but better to have just in case, Castiel supposed. He himself wasn’t really interested in casual sex, but usually when the need arose it wasn’t that hard to find someone who thought he was good enough.

He shut the drawer again, feeling more intrusive than before. Castiel didn’t usually have a problem with snooping, but it felt different with Dean. Like the fact he knew him made it more shameful. He put everything back the way it was and left the room, somehow working up the balls to take some more asprin for his head.


	9. My Head Oppressed By Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more of a filler, and there may be a few more... I promise we'll get to the better stuff soon

“You  are both insane,” Cas said fifteen minutes into the discussion about what they should do, “I cant believe you’re even debating this.”

Dean however, ignored him and the fact he looked insanely good in the shirt he’d given him with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and buttons undone enough to show his collarbones. He and Bobby were edging closer to the possibility they may have to ask Ash a big favour. He’d won the old man over with the ‘What if it was me?’ line. Worked every time.

“Anonymous tip?” Bobby suggested, causing Cas to sigh and grab a notepad from the desk.

“They’re too smart, they’ve got guys watching all the police radio stations.”

“Then what do you suggest, smartass?” Of course Bobby didn’t know that the smartass was very accurate in Cas’ case.

“You want to catch them,” he scribbled down a few things on the notepad, “Its real simple, childs play in fact. You’ve got to-“

“Stop your yapping and get explaining, how do we do this?”

Cas smiled at Bobby’s impatience and spun the paper to face Bobby. Dean looked at the notepad, it held a few words in Castiels writing and he would've commented on how beautiful it was if it didnt turn out to say ' _Turn me the fuck in_.' He snatched the pen out of Cas' hands and drew a line through the words with a firm protest, Castiel was not doing this. The man bit back that it was the only goddamn way and Dean only stared back until he huffed, plucking the pen out of Deans hands again. No way in hell was he being turned in, by him or anyone else.

Dean noticed how Bobby appeared to be losing the will to live and possibly about to smack them both upside the head, so he tore the page out and pushed the pad back to Cas, "Whats the warehouse like?" He'd be better explaining this than Dean. He relented with a sigh after a few seconds of twisting that ring of his.

“There’s one way into the warehouse,” he sketched a square onto the paper and an arrow pointing at the bottom edge, “Cover that when everyone’s inside and you’ve got their hands tied. Thats the difficult part.”

Dean frowned, “Wont they have weapons in there?”

He shrugged, “A few little knives like mine. The only thing they have in there is forged art.”

Cas wrote down a few names, Balthazar, Michael, Lucifer. “They’re the main ones you want. The rest are easy, just catch one and make him squeal. They’re cowardly bastards.”

“What if they rat you out?” Dean watched as he drew idle circles on the paper, “I told you, I’m not-“

“The cops will trace every loose thread eventually,” he put the pen down like it was made of glass. Dean didnt miss the subtle intermittent tremors in his fingers. “I happen to be one of them.” 

Castiel ran his fingers through his hair and the Rosary on his wrist swung a little with the shakes in his arms, he clenched his fists, stared straight ahead and took a few breaths. His lips moved with silent words, one of which appeared to be his name, Dean thought. The man had obviously thought about this a lot, more than anyone, and if Dean was right it scared the hell out of him. He wanted to offer some sort of comfort if he could, but he had nothing to give him. So he exchanged a look with Bobby and waited for Castiel to come back to them.

“We know a guy,” Bobby offered, “Deans dad used to do him good favours. He does fake birth certificates, drivers licences, passports, everything.”

Cas’ frown got deeper, Dean knew he probably already had a whole load of fake stuff. He probably didn’t want more, but still. “You could start a whole new life,” and he almost added ‘with me’ but he sealed his lips.

“The cops need someone to tell them, and work with them on this,” Cas said, fiddling with that ring again, “And its gonna look suspicious if you go up to them, tell them all this inside information about a drugs cartel, then say you got an anonymous tip. I’ll do it.”

“Cas,” Dean warned, “You will not.”

“Then what do you suggest!?” he snapped back, reverting back to his desperate, defensive self as his temporary calm shattered.  “This thing’s going tits up if-“

“I have an idea!”he sent Bobby an apologetic glance and begged them both to understand, “You’re sure as hell not going to like it, neither do I.”

“Well?” Bobby prompted irritably, “Out with it.”

Castiel looked halfway to a panic attack, eyes wide and staring. Dean wanted to hold him like he had last night until he calmed down but he doubted Cas would let him while he was sober.

He paused a second, looking between them, “I go in after I call the cops, give them the address and stuff, and distract them until-“

“No,” Cas and Bobby both said at the same time with their own cuss words overlapping, which Dean found a little funny. They both glanced at each other, seemingly having found a middle ground they both agreed on. Dean was not offering himself up on a plate.

“No,” Castiel crossed his arms defiantly, “You will not, not while I’m still breathing.”

“But-“

"You have absolutely no idea what you're dealing with here!" Cas' breath came quickly, heavily at times, but he brushed Deans hand aside choosing instead to shut his eyes and breathe through his nose until it went away at least a little. But Dean wasnt done yet, Cas had to see how stupid this was.

"I got myself into this mess, its my-"

“Listen,” he hissed, interrupting Dean yet again. This whole shtick was getting old, he treated Dean like he wasnt damn well capable. Cas grabbed Deans arm and pulled him aside, “I’m the reason you’re in this mess.”

The hand on his arm trembled just a little, Dean frowned at him but he went on before he could say anything, “You know why they’re focusing on you? Because I- I like you thats why. They love finding new ways to fuck with me and right now you’re a prime target. So no.”

“Well we’re running out of ideas,” he whispered harsher than he meant, “Feel free to suggest some, I’d be delighted.”

Cas glared at him a minute, letting go of his bicep and making a beeline for the door. He let it swing shut, and through the screen Dean could see him link his hands behind his head on the porch, grabbing handfuls of his hair as he sat down on the steps. His shoulders hunched up to his ears, Dean could see the tremors shaking his arms now. 

Clearly it wasn’t just Dean at his wits end over this.

* * *

He sat out on Bobby’s porch watching some dumb crow peck at the dry earth fruitlessly. Its dark, shouldn’t they all be in their nests or something? Whatever. The crow was about as stupid as they were, tailspinning and chasing ideas that wouldn’t work. He wished dad were here. He might’ve known what to do. And he wished this never happened. He wished he and Cas had never met, they’d both still be living their own lives. No matter how boring they were. He’d still be on speaking terms with Sam, he wouldn’t be scared to sleep. If he hadn’t run away in the first place none of this would’ve happened. Dean felt the little drop of wet make a track down his left cheek and he didn’t care.

He tossed his empty bottle into the weeds by the porch and listened to it break in the quiet night. He still didn’t care. Castiel had went for a walk before dinner and hadn’t come back yet, but he couldn’t say he didn’t care about that. He worried for him too. The Impala sat out there in the dark, her curves highlighted by the moon and she looked as good as the day she was made He hadn’t been born then, hell he wasn’t even a thought. But he’d seen pictures of her when dad first bought her, a little advice from a friend made him buy Baby instead of the van his mom wanted.

He leaned on the rail and covered his face with his hands. All of this was getting too much, too ridiculous. Every step forward was four back and nothing was working. Some days he thought maybe he should leave and avoid it altogether. Take the car and run. But he couldn’t, could he? He couldn’t do it again.

Cas was right. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no clue how to fix this and he wished he did. He wished a lot of things but one thing always remained. All he knew how to do was run away. Sam was right too, he was stupid and he was just like dad.  The porch creaked to his left and when he lifted his head he wished he hadn’t.

It was Castiel, and he looked every inch the storm he was. Furious and churning but with a scarily calm exterior, thats what Dean found terrifying. Dean acknowledged him and took a seat on the bench, staring at the chipping paint on the deck. He just didn’t have the energy to say anything. Castiel should’ve gone inside and left him all alone like he deserved, but instead he came to stand in front of Dean, saying his name once.

Castiel gently took Deans face in his hands, turning his face up. One hand moved to tentatively run through his hair, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked hoarsely, he cursed his voice.

“Everything,” Cas answered, still carding his fingers through Deans hair. His other hand lay on Deans face so that his thumb rested in the hollow of his cheek. It was ridiculously soothing, even given how sad Castiels eyes were. Dean shut his eyes and let himself be selfish, leaning into the touch he didn’t deserve. The hand in his hair stopped, dropping back to Cas’ side.

“Its stupid,” he went on as Dean listened, “I spend all this time trying to stay away and...”

He frowned, “And?”

Castiel stayed quiet, moving to sit next to Dean so their shoulders touched. He sighed, staring at the boards beneath their feet. “You think after this maybe...”

Dean waited for him to say more, he thought he knew how that sentence ended but he also knew what happened the last time he just presumed about Cas. But Cas didn’t say anything else, sitting there in his black cargo pants and his hoodie unzipped just enough for Dean to see his borrowed shirt. So temptingly close, Dean could’ve just reached over and...well, he didn’t know. But he knew he wanted to do something that involved contact. Just someone elses warm hand in his maybe.

“Its late,” Cas said quietly, “You should probably go to bed.”

* * *

His necklace reminded him of Sam where it sat on the dresser. The boy had given it to him for Christmas one year, when dad didnt come home. He had wrapped it in torn out pages of a comic book, told Dean it was for dad, uncle Bobby gave it to him and said it was real special. But dad didnt bother coming home, and Sam gave it to Dean instead even after he shut him out time and time again.

He wore it every day of his life, rarely took it off cos it felt wrong without it. But now its on the dresser and he doesnt feel anything at all. Sam hasnt called him for a while now. He supposed he went back to school to cool off. Thats what Bobby said anyway. Cas hasnt said shit, he went for a walk again after he told Dean to go to bed, headed off in the direction of town and started running halfway down the drive. He was quick too, disappeared from sight in the black in no time. Dean supposed he wouldnt come back this time.

Yeah, Dean went to bed in one of the spare bedrooms at Bobbys. With a fifth and no glass. He just drank it from the bottle. Its okay though, he wont have much. Maybe.

He kept thinking about the tender way Cas had held his face, the way he carded his fingers through his hair. All things that shouldnt have happened. And he wondered what might have happened if he had let Dean kiss him that night a long while ago. Would things be different? Might he have never come back at all? He couldnt think if that would've been better or not. To never have seen him again after that night. Better for both of them.

He heard the sound of footsteps on metal outside, and even in his fuzzy state he felt the need to check his car for asshats climbing all over her. But it wasnt his car, or any other car. It was the tin roof of a lean-to he helped Bobby build last year. Someone in dark clothes, hood up over their head, sat there with their legs crossed, staring down at the ground. They turned their face up for a moment, their hood fell back. Cas stared up at the sky like the stars had answers. But of course, God wasnt listening.

After a minute or two he bowed his head, the Rosary swung from his fists where he gripped it tight, and went still. Dean never took him for a religious man with the amount of cursing he did, and generally his life, but maybe he was wrong. There was so much he didnt know about Castiel.

* * *

 

He found Castiel in the morning sitting on the porch steps, hands buried in his hair not making a sound. He tried to ask him what was wrong but all he got was more silent trembling and if he was honest it was scaring the shit out of him. He touched Castiels shoulder and he flinched, looked up and relaxed the barest amount but the panic was real and still there. His chest heaved, he looked down and away, curling in on himself. Cas was pale too, sickly looking. 

Dean grabbed for one of his hands, finding the palm slick, "Cas, buddy c'mon," he coaxed gently, "Whats wrong?"

"I need- I just- gimme a minute," his hand held Deans far too tightly for a second, then found the shoulder of Deans shirt bunching the fabric under his fingers, "Keep talking. Please."

"About what?"

"Anything," he said quickly, anxious perhaps, "Just speak I-"

So he talked, about stupid things like how he doesnt like dogs, how he once took Sam to one of those Santas Grotto things and he cried, and about that fourth of July they accidentally burned a field down. He really didnt see how it was helping, and all Cas did in that time was readjust the grip on his shirt and tell Dean no when he tried to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. What he wanted to do was take the guy to a doctor, he really didnt look well at all. He gasped like someone was squeezing his lungs tight and his pulse the last time Dean had felt it had been faster than he thought a heart could beat. Was he having a heart attack?

But eventually his grip loosened, his breathing slowed back to normal, and he half slumped against the rail on the porch. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face that disappeared when he wiped a hand across his forehead and down his cheeks with a shaky sigh. He still trembled a little, but other than that he looked okay-ish.

"What the hell was that?" he asked as soon as Cas could sit up straight. He regarded Dean a little tiredly and ran a hand through his hair.

"They've been getting worse..." Cas murmured, "Panic attacks," he glanced up with still wide eyes, "I'm sorry. Touch can be...too much. Smothering."

Dean frowned at him, panic attacks? "Since when do you get panic attacks? And you were touching me, how-"

Castiel cut him off with a disgruntled groan, "Since _ever_. I've always had them but just recently its gotten harder and harder to stop them," he noticed his hand still holding onto Dean and let it fall, "I needed to know something was real, sometimes its hard to tell. Thank you, by the way."

"Dont these things have triggers?" Deans curiosity got the better of him yet again, and part of him said to shut up because he's being an asshole, "What made you...?"

Castiel smiled and let out a long, quiet sigh, seemingly content to just sit with Dean in the early sun pretending it was okay.

"Just thinking," he mumbled, and Dean knew he wasnt going to get more than that out of him.

* * *

Castiel had gone to church, again. He felt like he had to. He went before dinner, he'd lost his appetite. He found himself in the same quaint little church from last time. The Father was there, setting out bibles and pamphlets for tomorrows service. The doors creaked when Castiel opened them and he turned, smiling at him and commenting how Cas couldnt seem to stay away. He didnt say a word, instead helping pass out the bibles for him. But tonight simply being here didnt help. He wanted to scream, break something, because he didnt know what to do.

Tonight the Rosary was even heavier.

The priest seemed to know somehow, and invited him to the confessionals. He didnt know the real purpose of sitting in a box and spilling your guts but it must help some people. To Cas, it didnt make a difference. He was telling someone secrets, that fact didnt change.

"What would you do, Father," he asked after a seconds silence, "If...if you knew you had to stay away from someone but kept coming back?"

The man hummed, shifting on the cushion on his side of the perforated, beautifully carved partition. "I'd go with what I felt was right."

Castiel fought a childish whine, "I know whats right, and its staying away. But I cant, I keep coming back."

"Sometimes," the priest said, "If I have a particularly difficult decision, I ask the Lord for help."

Of course a priest would tell him to ask Jesus or God to give him strength or wisdom or some shit. He's tried that, he's tried praying to every god he knows, nothing works. He'll be the death of both of them. He used to be so good at staying away, after... He couldnt think about that, it'd only bring on the panic lurking under his skin. So he decided to ask the priest "What if you were to find out that no one is listening? That God had pretty much left, that Heaven had gone out of business. What would you do?"

"Ah, I see now," the man said with a knowing chuckle to himself, "You're losing faith."

_Yeah, about a decade too late, genius._

Castiel stayed quiet, biting his lip while he waited for the Father to reply. He got the tight feeling in his chest he got just before he had an attack, and surprised himself. It had been years since a simple situation like this poked at the anxious little part of him. But then, that part had grown in the past while. Since he met Dean. And he wanted to blame Dean for it all, if he hadnt been such a jackass he might be okay. Might not be tempted to take just one dose of morphine, just for a little while. But he couldnt blame Dean for it. It was no ones blame but his own, if he was perfectly honest.

"Well," the man finally replied, "I look at all the little miracles around me to remind myself of Gods love. Thats how I know he'll never leave us. If you dont mind, can I ask your reason for...?"

Castiel leaned forward on his elbows, "I was fourteen and...and my mom died... Everything fell apart, she wasnt there to stop my panic- dad started drinking and..." he paused because his voice cracked in weird places, swallowed before continuing, "I've had doubts for years but now..."

"You dont know what to think," he finished for Castiel.

It was true, he had no idea what to think. That God decided he wasnt worth his time? That he was damned to Hell even before he left home? He held the Rosary tight again, bringing it to his lips once, twice. Simply out of habit, now.

"Well, this someone," the priest asked, "It seems like you love them very much, to go against reason. Do you?"

He nodded after a second. He did, holy shit he did. He didnt know why he'd denied it, even if the thought caused the fluttery feeling to be smothered by dread because if he loved Dean then it meant he was in even more danger. Then Castiel remembered the Father couldnt see him, "Yes, I do."

"I would say do what your heart says. But who am I to tell you whats right, I'm just an old man."

He smiled and thanked the man, who thankfully didnt do the whole 'No, thank Jesus' thing. Before he stood to leave the confessional, the man called him back, and Castiel was wary, being called back was never good in any situation.

"I never did ask your name," he said with a smile in his voice. 

"Castiel," he replied with honesty this time, "Castiel Shurley." He felt a little bit of a rush at saying his real name for the first time in a long while. It made him smile, because this priest knew that name, he knew what happened now. Maybe he'd come back and see the man if this all went as planned, he thought as he stood up and left the confessional quietly, he didnt want to see the look on the priests face.


	10. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for description of gore and reference to past addiction
> 
> ooh we're nearly there, but we've still got ages to go

Dean was an idiot.

A complete and utter imbecile.

Fucking idiot guys. Why do the pretty ones always have to be stupid? Dean had him sitting in that beautiful car of his outside Bobby’s house, tearing up a McDonalds napkin out of sheer anxiety. He put his hood up like a safety blanket for his head, it only hid his face when he looked at his feet. He thought about Dean instead of fretting. About his pretty lips and bright eyes, strong jawline and the freckles that dotted his skin like stardust. He thought about those a lot, and how far they went. A stupid daydream, but who else would he daydream about?

Cas closed his eyes, resting his head on the window. He felt like he missed an opportunity last night, Dean had been giving off all the right signals, leaning into his palm and closing his eyes, subconsciously leaning against him when he sat down. But he’d been too stupid or too scared to do anything about it. It was a grey area for him in the sense he’d never wanted to make something long term happen with someone and now, he thought maybe he did.  

And he let his mind wander again. The smell of the car reminded him of Dean. He thought about the day they met, and the time after he’d been wearing a rumpled suit but god he looked delicious, he’d often dreamt about slowly undoing the button down shirt, slipping it from his shoulders and pressing himself close to the mans chest and-

He jumped when the drivers door opened, his hand went to the pocket he kept his knife in, but it was only Dean. He felt himself turn a nice shade of rose, which was strange because he was never one to be embarrassed about much. But the thoughts he’d just been thinking had gone straight to you-know-where and he hoped to Heaven it wasn’t obvious that he had a problem downstairs. Cas made a note that thinking about wrinkly old ladies did not work when the cause of your boner was sitting five inches away from you.

Cas smiled because Dean did, but they were both faking it. He liked the shape Deans lips made when he smiled for real. He wanted to kiss them long and slow, learn their shape in a new way. He settled for watching as they sang along to whatever song was playing on the radio, Cas couldn’t hear for the blood pounding in his ears. He would do something tonight he didn’t think Dean would forgive him for, which was okay because he’d probably die anyway.

It’d be worth it if it got them out of this though, if it worked.

* * *

It reminded him of home, being at Deans, before he got sucked into all this. His home in New Jersey, his home with a mom and a dad who loved him. When he was just a little kid his mom would tuck him in, pull the covers right up to his chin. She’d sing to him, pet his hair, in those moments he’d had no notion in hell that he’d ever end up here.

He didn’t cherish those moments enough.

 “Dragă Dumnezeu, Tatăl nostru care ești în ceruri...” he murmured, quietly pacing through Deans house in his socks so that his feet made no sound. He only remembered some parts of his dads sermons, in different languages, a patchwork of words. “Ton nom soit sanctifié.

Dean sat at kitchen table, reading the news again and nursing some scotch. He stood, finishing it off and placing the glass by the sink. Like he did every night, Cas knew he did without having to be here for it. He just seemed the type to. Cas took a deep breath his gut twisting in knots.

“I’m going out,” he said, praying Dean wouldn’t notice the waver. He shrugged on his jacket after slipping on his boots and turned to find Dean standing in front of the door, one hand on the handle.

“Its nearly eleven,” he said, brow furrowed. He wasn’t stupid, he knew something was up, “Where?”

“I’ll be back,” Cas very nearly reached out and pulled him close just in case he didn’t make it back to do it again. He bit his lip, thinking about what would happen if he didn’t come back and failed.

“What’re you thinking Castiel?”

Cas liked it when Dean said his name, it sounded better, nicer than if someone like Michael did.

He was being so transparent here, Dean probably knew by now whatever he was going to do, it wasn’t good. So he did something ridiculous and stepped forward, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to Deans cheek, one hand reaching around him to the sideboard behind him. He stayed a moment, feeling Deans breath on his ear before stepping away to face him again with a little pink in his complexion. Deans frown was ever present, he hadn’t really expected otherwise. That hadn’t been the endgame of that stupid move.

“What was that for?” Dean asked him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. This time Cas didn’t smile back, sullenly holding his gaze for a few seconds.

“In case I’m not back,” he said simply, opening the door and slipping out before Dean could say anything to make him change his mind. He heard his name, and he chewed the inside of his cheek as he ran down the stairs from the flat.

The weight of his guilt was almost as tangible as Deans keys in his hand.

* * *

He was still sort of reeling from Cas’ peck on the cheek and didn’t really register his words and the implied meaning until Cas was already down two flights of stairs. _In case I’m not back._

It hit him like a ton of bricks that Cas, the stupid fucker, was going back. He was going back to do something idiotic and unhelpful that would make things worse. He cursed, reaching for the keys on the sideboard but they were gone. The kiss was to distract him while he grabbed them, probably to make sure he wasn’t going after Cas. That sneaky, genius bastard. Each day he seemed to forget how much Cas was, and he only reminded him after each mistake.

He turned and pulled the door open, but Castiel was long gone by now. He probably knew every little alleyway that’d get him back quicker, and Dean only knew the main roads. He’d never catch him in time.

* * *

When Castiel was younger, he knew someone. In fact, he was closer to this person than anyone if he was honest. Because Meg could relate. Her family fell apart and the Rapture found her. She was Castiels age, maybe a year or two younger. He found solace in Meg, and in turn the girl seemed to take comfort in him. Gabriel told him over and over he couldnt have friends. He didnt listen. He was young, he thought he was in love.

Meg didnt die from a Morphine overdose, that wasnt even in the equation at the time. That came after. 

He hadnt seen her for weeks, he missed her touch, her voice to coax him out of his night terrors. She came and went, but that was Meg. She showed up every few days though, and she'd been gone for four. He worried excessively then. She left one night, telling him she'd be back soon, kissed him goodbye and left. That was the last time he saw her alive. The worst was that he had to find out from Gabe that she was dead, and that Michael had been the one to wrap his hands round her pale throat and leave bruises in the shape of his fingers as he strangled her. So he left, angry and grieving, and the fortnight after was a blur of alcohol and somewhere in there his first hit of Morphine.

His nightmares terrified him, mostly they took place in a dank motel room he stayed in once for two days, handcuffed with people watching him, and Michael would come in every five hours or so, give him a hit while he protests, then leave again. He hated himself for letting this happen. He's scared of what happens when they let him go will he be a junkie again, will he have to go through all that over again? Even though its all a dream, and he knows it is the whole time, he still wakes up halfway into an attack.

He only really remembers getting clean in his nightmares, because thats what it was, a nightmare. Now Dean just blows into his life and somehow makes it worse while also making it better. His panic attacks come back, but he takes painkillers again. He starts healing him, slowly. And Cas started falling for him the moment he showed he cared. He's selfish but so is Dean. And now Castiel is paying him back for his kindness in the only way he can. He turned his face up to the sky, sending a silent prayer to whoever was listening that if he died, Dean would be safe, and opened the heavy door of the warehouse for what might well be the very last time.

* * *

It was almost like they’d been expecting him. The entire warehouse empty as before, save Michael and Lucifer. He remembered then that they sometimes sent their goons out to do random hit-and-runs in the surrounding states, do deals on their behalf. Thats probably where they were. He shut the doors behind him, his footsteps echoing as he made his way to the far end of the concrete floor. 

“Okay,” he raised his hands, “You got me. Thats what you want, isn’t it?”

Lucifer remained quiet, always snakelike and always watching his every move. Michael paced around him, giving him a wide berth like he actually thought Cas would take him on. Castiel would have loved to flay him alive, gut him, slit his throat, cut pieces off and make him swallow them, all the things he'd imagined every time he threw him that gloating look like he had him on a leash.

“Oh no, Castiel,” he said, ever dramatic, “I always had you. Its _Dean_ we want.”

“No it isn’t.” He shook his head, they’re playing with him like always. He sometimes wished they’d get past the theatre club bullshit and get to the point. The rain kept on hammering down on the steel roof. He might’ve heard thunder somewhere, but it could’ve just been his imagination. He had read some of Deans books, most of them started off like this, so it was more than likely he was making it up on his own.

“Oh but it is,” he leered at Cas, almost singing like he enjoyed this.

“Well you cant have him,” Castiel snapped back too quickly, immediately regretting it.

“Aah,” Lucifer came forward, right up to him, and steepled his fingers, “I see now,” turning to Michael he said, “He’s in love.”

Michael looked between them for a minute, waiting for Castiel to deny, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out but a stumbling mess of beginnings of sentences. The dark haired man placed a hand over where his non existent heart was, sighing dramatically, “Aw, my heart breaks for you, it _really_ does.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Castiel somehow snarled back, hands curling into fists even as heat crept up his neck. It was like having older brothers making fun of him for liking an artist or something. He wanted to strangle both of them.

“This just makes it even easier to toy with you. Just like last time. All we need to do is stick a pin in your boyfriend-“

“If you _touch_ Dean-“

“You’ll _what_!?” Michael yelled, startling him a little, “What will you do?” he smiled a cruel smile, advancing on Castiel, herding him almost, “You wont do anything, will you? You are what you’ve always been. A scared, _cowardly_ little boy.”

Lucifer came up behind him, twisting both arms up his back so he almost dropped Deans keys, he held them so tight they cut his palm. His tormentor came close again, a hand in his hair forcing Castiel to look at him while he spoke. He held Michaels gaze, refusing to let him think for one second he was going down easily. But he was scared, genuinely scared not for himself but for Dean. The lump in his throat refused to go away, his chest constricted, all the beginnings of an attack and he knew he'd probably take his last breath before it got any farther.

“We’re going to have fun with him. Maybe I’ll cut off his hands, or maybe a few fingers. I’m sure he wouldn’t miss them,” he frowned, “You might not find him so fun after I amputate his-“

He jerked and Cas heard a dull thud, and the action repeated itself after a few seconds. Michaels hand dropped from his hair to lean heavily on his shoulder and a little blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Lucifer let him go, Cas staggered sideways and Michael fell flat on his face, two shafts as long as his forearm and thin as a pencil sticking out of his back. This time he heard the quiet smack of the bowstring seconds before a sickening crunch, and another body hit the floor.

It took Cas a few seconds to realise that the two men were dead, an arrow through Lucifers skull to match the two in Michaels back. His heart thundered louder than the rain as he scanned the rafters for the archer, fearing that he’d be next. He found her after a few unsteady moments on his feet, crouched in the shadows on the bridge above. She had an arrow poised on the crossbow but she wasn’t aiming. Just gazing at Cas like she hadn’t just killed two people. Did this seriously just happen? It still hadnt quite sunk in, even with them lying before him in pools of their own blood, that the men were dead.

“I wont kill you,” she said, her strong Spanish accent muffled by the scarf over her mouth and nose, “Unless you give me reason. Now leave, _aprisa_.”

Cas nodded once, stumbling over his own feet as he bolted for the door as someone threw it open. Dean stood there, he said something as Cas reached him but he didn’t hear, he was too busy winding his arms around Dean in sheer relief, he didn’t think he’d be seeing his face again. Dean was soaked from the rain, but he didnt care. He was this close to losing control over his breathing, his heart rate was already all over the place, so the man actually being here was a blessing. Over Deans shoulder, the woman was retrieving her arrows, wiping them on a rag before searching the bodies. Castiel didn’t know or care who she was, he wanted Dean out of here.

He took Dean by the hand, resisting the urge to kiss his confused face until he couldn’t see anymore, and pulled him out of the warehouse, into the rain with him and just ran, hand in hand with the man who showed him freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its not the end yet folks!! Just you wait, I wouldnt leave you without some decent destiel, okay? Right now its just beginning....


	11. We Took No Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick filler, cos last time it ended sort of abruptly didnt it? 
> 
> Cas is coming to terms with the fact he can do what he wants (Basically my excuse for dean in pyjamas but yolo)

Castiel explained, to the best of his ability, what his plan had been. And of course Dean called him a fucking idiot, but he couldn’t help but feel a weird surge of affection toward Cas when he mumbled that he did it for Dean. They sat at the kitchen table, Cas had a glass of water half empty and Dean an untouched beer, and Castiel looked the very essence of exhausted with a restless edge in everything he did. Dean had a feeling that it hadn’t quite sunk in that they were actually permanently dead. Like, actually really gone and wouldn’t come back. Truth be told, even if Castiel would never say, those two bastards were like abusive family members. He had nothing to go back to now, nothing to belong to. Dean knew the feeling like drifting along hoping to snag.

“Oh,” Cas whispered like someone would hear and dug around in his pocket, “You’ll want these back.” And he placed the keys on the table with such care, they cast a funny shadow in the light from the streetlamp outside. Dean didn’t pick them up, instead he treated this moment like a blessing because it could have been different. Cas might not have come home at all.

“You’re still an idiot,” he murmured back, noticing the small cut on Cas’ palm. Just a little thing that was nothing but a red seam with a few crusty bits on it.

“But I got you out didn’t I?” he said, and his smile didn’t reach his voice or his eyes. “You’re safe.”

“Cas I was never _in_ ,” Dean told him for the second time since they got home, “You got _you_ out. That was all you.”

He seemed to think about it for a second, frowning and biting his lip. Dean worried he might stand up and leave like he always did. He didn’t want him to go, not after that. And he knew Cas did it for him, or he seemed to believe he did anyway. Maybe some part of him finally decided to ditch the bullshit and leave. Dean supposed they had that archer to thank for it in all honesty, she did the shooting from what Cas told him.

They sat in silence for another thirty minutes before Dean saw Castiels eyelids drooping and he announced he’d make up the sofa for him, shoving a pair of old sweats into his hands. He’d learned of the mans habit of sleeping in his car and he was not doing that tonight of all nights. Especially as the rain was gradually turning to sleet and filling the windowledge with sloshy mess.

But, it seemed, neither of them could sleep. Even with his favourite comic book print pyjamas on, wrapped up in his sheets, sleep eluded Dean. He heard Castiel quietly padding around the place, stopping occasionally to look out of windows and check locks Dean guessed. Simply because thats what he did. So he grabbed his iPod, his headphones, and wrapped himself up in his softest hoodie, throwing his fleece blanket under his arm. Cas leaned on his hands on the windowsill in the living room, shoulders hunched up to his ears. He hadn’t noticed Dean yet.

He drew a shaky breath, letting it out again slowly as he raised one of his hands to watch the fingers tremble in the low light. Dean said his name quietly and held up the blanket and iPod, “Cant sleep either, huh?”

It seemed all too much for them both, such a big change happening in such a way no one quite believed it. He knew he had nothing to worry about, but his brain couldnt seem to wrap itself around that. Castiel suddenly had free will and he had no idea what to do with it,  and Dean had what he’d always had except now Castiel was in the equation too. And they were both shattered, exhausted, but their brains were too loud to let them rest. Castiel shook his head as Dean sat down on the sofa, the Batman blanket around his shoulders and the iPod in his lap. He held the blanket open for Cas to join him and, to his relief, he did. He accepted an earbud too, and seemed to relax minutely when Dean pressed play on the playlist he listened too on bad days full of things like Snow Patrol and Guns N’ Roses.

Dean started to drift when Cas mumbled “Its not fair.”

“Hmm?”

“Its not fair,” Cas repeated, “They get peace and... And I’m expected to live like- like they didn’t do all of those things, never made  _me_ do things?” he tensed and clenched his fists, “I _cant_ , Dean, you know I cant-“

“Hey, shh,” Dean hushed him sleepily, “I know you can, and you will.” It was five in the morning now, and Castiel was now officially the picture of death warmed up, Dean doubted he’d last much longer. “Hey uh...now you’re free or whatever d’you think you’ll visit your dad? Make things right.”

Cas sighed, leaned on Deans side, “I doubt he’d want to see me.”

“Tell me about him.”

Dean wasn’t sure how long Castiel talked for before he finally lost consciousness, but he did remember the weight of Cas’ head on his shoulder (and oh my God how his hair smelled amazing) as he talked in hushed whispers about the places his dad took him, the people there, his Rosary box and how someday he’d show Dean every last one of them.

* * *

 Sam called. All he said was to turn on the news and asked if it was Cas. Two bodies had been found in the river, and both had been identified as the men Castiel hated most. Dean swore it wasn’t Cas, but didn’t say more than that. Sam didn’t need to know.

“How do you _know_ it wasn’t him?” Sam pressed, an edge creeping into his voice. He’s still angry, Dean knows. But its only because of Deans impatience, thinking Cas needed any help at all. Maybe all he’d needed was a push, a wake up call.

“Because he was with me,” he grumbled back, taking the milk out of the fridge for coffee. “All night, okay?” It wasn’t totally a lie.

Sam was quiet for a couple of seconds and Dean frowned at the counter because quiet Sam was usually angry Sam. Then he said “Oh my god you-“

“What?”

“You- Dean you _slept_ with him didn’t you?” he accused, “I knew it. From the moment-“

“ _Sam_ for Gods sake no!” he felt himself flush and nearly dropped the milk, “Oh my God why does everyone think I’m gay?”

“You don’t have to be-“

“ _No_!”

Sam sighed and Dean heard Bobby yelling at him in the background, “Wait, you’re at Bobby’s?”

“Yeah, I was gonna tell you, sorry.”

“Never mind,” Dean wiped a hand over his brow and went to put the bottle back in the fridge, he was tired hence the coffee in copious amounts. Cas wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Castiel hadn’t slept at all. He didn’t sleep last night either. Instead he sat awake on the sofa, staring at the blank TV screen. There was nothing Dean could’ve done so he checked the locks and went to bed to toss and turn without a minute of sleep. Werent people supposed to sleep easier when their troubles disappeared?

“I was thinking,” Sam went on, “Maybe I’ll give him a second chance.”

He meant Cas, Dean guessed. If he was honest he couldn’t care less if Sam liked him or not, Dean hated some of Sams friends.  He was allowed to dislike people. The door opened and shut, plastic bags rustled and Dean remembered he’d asked Cas to get some groceries for him while he was at work. When he came home and Cas was gone he assumed he’d left again, it wasn’t unusual for Cas to do that.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he said genuinely, “I’ll see you tomorrow, after work?”

“Sure,” Sam replied and hung up as Cas came into the kitchen, snow melting in his hair. He set the bags on the counter and started unpacking them, giving Dean a worn out smile that didn’t last long. Dean set about cutting the peppers up and handed Castiel a knife, telling him to start on the chicken. He would yawn every so often as he went through the motions of preparing the chicken, cutting it into strips to fry off in the pan, and Dean was surprised he didn’t cut his own fingers off.

So Dean took Cas by the wrist when he stifled yet another yawn and took the knife away, tugging him away from the counter. “Dinner can wait.”

To his relief, Cas followed, if a little reluctantly. He realised what this probably looked like, him dragging Cas up the hall to the one bedroom in the flat, and also realised he didn’t freakin’ care. The guy needed to rest, if he didn't he’d end up hurting himself or something.

“You haven’t slept in days,” he huffed when Cas stopped dead in the doorway to his room.

“I cant,” Cas shook his head, his hands clenched into fists, “If I sleep they’ll come.”

“They’re dead, Cas! And I doubt those mugs know how to tie their shoes without those two.”

Cas shook his head again, “Its not them I’m scared of, I can fight them. I cant fight...nightmares.”

It was sort of perplexing how Cas wasn’t scared of things that could actually hurt him but denied himself sleep in case a little dream gave him a fright. Dean was almost angry, but then he remembered the panic attacks that Cas never fucking talked about. Did his nightmares trigger them, were they that bad?

“What’re they about?” he asked quietly because its uncharted territory here, he didn’t know if Cas minded talking about it or whatever.

Castiel shrugged, “Varies. Mom, dad, Michael...”

“You need to sleep, Cas,” he said after a while of Cas looking sad. He did, and he knew it. Okay, so Dean had no idea what it was like having a panic attack or whatever, but it couldn’t be that bad he had to risk making himself ill, could it?

“Okay,” Cas swallowed, giving in to the pull on his wrist. Dean promised he’d be down the hall if he needed anything, but he growled “I’m not a child, Dean!” shutting him out yet again. He thought he didn’t need any help at all, or that he couldn’t accept it without looking weak. Sometimes the man could be so stupid, and annoying and infuriating and everything in between. There were some days a horrible part of Dean wished he’d left him in the alley, he pushed it out.

At some point, after only a couple of hours, Castiel came back through with mussed hair and a flushed face. He’d apparently shed his t-shirt at some point, and Dean pretended not to be bothered by it. He said nothing when Cas went to the fridge and took the chicken out again to continue cutting it.

He _wanted_ to say something though. Ask if he was okay maybe? What do you say to someone who cant sleep for whats in his head? _I’m sorry_ didn’t seem right. So he went back to the peppers. It was too quiet though, he wanted Cas to say something, let him know he was okay and he wasn’t shrinking back into his head away from him. He worried about him a lot, so it was a relief when he finally spoke as Dean set the pan on the hob and turned on the heat.

“I used to do this before,” he said quietly, staring at the pieces of raw chicken. There was too much now for a stir fry, which had been the plan, so Dean decided to just have fried chicken instead, “With mom.”

Dean added oil to the pan and watched it spread, “Is that what you were dreaming about?”

Cas stopped, putting the knife down. A muscle in his jaw worked while he stared blankly and his brow furrowed. Dean took that as a yes. “How did you know?”

“I heard you get up.” Get up? More like almost hyperventilating and mumbling in his sleep.

Cas didn’t reply. Instead he scraped the chicken bits into the pan and watched them start to grow white as Dean poked and shuffled them around with a wooden spoon. It would’ve been easier with a fork but the spoon was closer.

“I’m going to see him,” Castiel said, digging a thumb into the scar at his shoulder, “My dad. I just need a few days to...I don’t know.”

Dean prodded the chicken, contemplating putting the peppers in but really he prefers them raw. Somehow they’re better that way. Its snowing again, thick and heavy outside the window. He’s glad they’re inside. “Thats good, Cas. I think its a great idea.”

“I’ll be out of your way soon,” he went on, and Dean didn’t like the way he sounded like it was an apology, “I know I get in the way-“

“Cas shut up,” Dean took the pan off the heat for a moment and turned to look at Cas who seemed to have curled in on himself, become smaller. “You’re not in the way, man. Why’d you think that?”

“I’m always here and I could easily get somewhere else if you want me to.” Cas picked at the scar on his shoulder, like it would come off if he picked hard enough.

“Whats the real reason?”

He worried his lip for a second, “You told me to go, cos I was just a burden.”

When did he-? “Your dream? That what this is about?”

“Its stupid I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Castiel dug his thumbnail into his skin, leaving a crescent shape there. “I just... This isn’t my life, Dean. I’m not meant for- for nice houses, comfy beds, home cooking. I live out of a suitcase, sleep wherever and whenever, I’m not allowed-“

“Bullshit, Cas,” he snapped, going back to the pan and letting the chicken warm through again because it wasn’t quite done. “Thats bullshit and you know it. If anyone deserves it, its you.”

Castiel shut his mouth and glared halfheartedly at Dean for a minute, but he was too tired it seemed to keep that up either. Dean let it slide too, the last thing either of them needed was for their tempers to turn tonight into an argument where both of them come off feeling crap. Dean divided the chicken onto two plates, a handful of red and yellow peppers each. He didn’t know if Cas even liked peppers.

Castiel helped him wash up after, and he could see some of the tension drain out of him from the repetitive motions of drying the dishes and setting them aside. But he still looked like a zombie, so Dean dragged him down the hall for a second time, only this time he slid into the bed beside Cas. It earned him a funny look, which he returned and grumbled something about making sure he stayed in bed this time and actually got some damn sleep. Dean rolled onto his side to face the wall away from Cas, it would've been weird, falling asleep facing each other. That and he wasnt sure he _could_ sleep with Cas' gorgeous face right fucking there.

“You’re not a burden,” he said, shutting his eyes as he slowly drifted off, “I like having you here, Cas.”

He pretended not to notice when Cas reached between them and laid a hand on his shoulder. Although at some point he woke to Castiel mumbling in an anxious manner, he ran his hand through Cas’ hair until he settled. And, this time around, Castiel stayed.


	12. My Guide And I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for more of Castiels anxiety attacks, they're playing up quite a lot here but I promise he gets better!

He insisted he go with Dean to Bobby’s house. More out of a need to be away from his head for a while than the thought Dean might be jumped in the street. He still hadn’t worked up the courage necessary to actually tell Dean the real reason he stuck around. He could’ve been gone by now, but he’s still here all because of silly affection. Pathetic, really. How he needed someone now when he hadnt before.

Castiel sort of floated through the whole visit, not really hearing what anyone was saying. There was a niggling voice in the back of his head, taunting the anxious boy in him. It said horrible things, untrue things. Things like _‘Dean hates you’_ and _‘Dean wants you gone’_ and at one point, it even tried to tell him Dean would rather he _died_. Castiel wasn’t necessary, he wasn’t needed, he was just a waste of matter. 

Why now? Why did the fear, the irrational panic decide to return? After everything was over and done it came back and hit him like a punch to the gut. At least three times during the visit, dizzying waves of nausea swept over him and if he hadn’t been sitting down already he would have keeled over. The fourth time he had to excuse himself because his stomach turned and he ended up bringing his breakfast back up. He did wonder if this was punishment, as the Rosary swung from his wrist while he rinsed his mouth and rooted through the bathroom cupboard to find some mouthwash that didnt help any, Gods way of paying him back for all his wrong. And the panic sat heavy in his gut, started inching its way up through him, but he pushed it back. He would not let it reign here, fair enough when he wasn’t in a relative strangers house, but not here. But something about being here, with all these (three, _three_ ) unfamiliar faces was sort of daunting. He forgot just how bad it used to be for him.

The drive home was mainly just him trying not to throw up again. Even Dean noticed he looked suitably ill, he smiled sheepishly and assured him he was fine. _Lies_.

Because as soon as he stepped inside the door, he excused himself for a shower even if he had one this morning. Dean didn’t question it, probably because he looked like he was about to implode if he didn’t get the fuck out of that room. The hot water didn’t help, and he slid to the floor of the shower and yanked on his hair until the sound of the water was nothing but background noise. And he felt a choking sob scrape its way out of his throat, and another, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

It wasn’t like his usual attacks, no. He still felt the raw panic, knew he should calm the hell down but couldn’t, but usually he was just nauseous and maybe hyperventilating. He cried this time, and it hurt. Physically hurt. This time, no one came, no one opened the door and talked while he rode it out, he felt no touch but the water still tumbling down.

Castiel put his head between his knees, laced his hands behind his head and hoped, even prayed, that it would stop. But it went on, it lasted well after the water went cold, and maybe thats what did it and finally drew him out of it.

With shaking limbs he stood, turned the water off, and stepped out. Somehow he managed to towel himself dry, scrub at his teeth with his recently acquired purple toothbrush until the taste of vomit and cheap mouthwash was a distant memory and move on to dry his hair as best as he could with the damp towel.

His borrowed sweats, a mere size too big and that smelled like Dean, were more comforting than anything else. He slipped them on and padded barefoot to the kitchen. Dean offered him a tin of chicken soup, he declined. If he ate he’d be sick again. Instead, wishing he was numb and feeling what he supposed must be the definition of crestfallen or something like that, he sat on the sofa, knees tucked up to his chest. He had no idea why he always felt this way after his episodes, but they took it out of him mentally. Dean seemed to somehow see this, and gave him a little space, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa while he ate his half-assed dinner of tomato soup.

Castiel watched from the corner of his eye as Dean stood again to wash his bowl in the kitchen, waiting for his return. He wanted to ask for help, but something made his throat close up, his lips seal. Why did it have to be him that had this stupid disorder? It never used to be this bad, never! It wasn’t _fair_!

“Castiel,” Dean was suddenly right there, closer than before. “Bad day, huh?”

All he could do was nod. If he spoke he’d only start his pathetic nonsense again, he felt that funny worrisome lump in his throat, the way his heart fluttered like a caged wild bird, that meant he was getting all anxious again. Deans arm came around his shoulders, “Is this okay? This what you need?”

In response he nudged closer under Deans arm, fingers hooking into his soft t-shirt. A few of his tight muscles relaxed, yes this was what he needed. He needed reassurance, he needed someone there, he needed a friend right now. Dean sighed softly, pressed his cheek into Castiels hair. Like he'd said, sometimes contact was crowding and suffocating but its sort of what he needed right now to push it back. Dean made him promise the other night that he'd get real help for it, and he had. He knew really that Dean couldnt always be there, and he couldnt always deal with it on his own especially given how he'd been coping these recent weeks. Ever since he met Dean its been harder to distance himself from it, from everything. He had a broken sort of theory that Dean was bringing him back to himself, the Castiel before the Morphine, the Rapture, before the bus crash. In some ways, it was good, but sometimes it felt like the worst thing that could ever happen.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “I kinda needed it too.”

Castiel knew he needed to see someone about this, it couldn’t keep happening. And he would, he swore he would. Just not right now. He needed to settle down, get used to not having to fight for his life nearly every day. Maybe thats what was wrong, the upset in his routine, the lack of a distraction. Thats what started it, Dean created a hiccup in the norm when he came into his life and everything suddenly went out of balance. The norm being he was a cold bastard who felt nothing and the upset was that he actually cared about someone. And he was scared, now. Scared that he might go back to Morphine to escape it. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let himself.

Cas didn’t know why but after a minute he whispered, “Please, don’t leave.” _Dont leave me._

 He thought Dean smiled, “So long as you don’t.”

Castiel turned his face into the well worn fabric of Deans t-shirt and thought he never would.

* * *

"I want you to come to church with me."

The request had been so sudden and out of the blue Dean had choked on his cereal. He never went to church, last time he'd been near one was for dads funeral. And Castiel, who hadnt said a word for what seemed like days now, was asking him to go with him for some reason. He didnt even know Cas went to church.

"You mean you _dont_ spontaneously combust when you set foot on Holy turf?" he asked when he recovered and Castiel halfheartedly scowled at him from the doorway. He'd been less and less worried about how much clothes he was wearing, and currently stood there with his jeans hanging low and shirt flapping open. Dean had to fight not to keep staring at his chest. "Why're you going to church anyway?"

He shook his head and pushed away from the doorframe to grab some coffee, "It doesnt matter. You dont have to come, I'll go myself."

His mood changed like that, and Cas suddenly became his usual detached self. All frowny and moody and "If you talk to me I'll stab you with a pencil." And he'd been better in the last few days, he wasnt so...depressed. He started eating again, actually watched the TV for all of fifteen minutes instead of staring through it. But what bothered Dean was how Castiel didnt ask for things much, he didnt say if something was wrong, so if he was asking now it was probably important to him. 

"Hey," Dean pushed his soggy cereal around the bowl, "You know I didnt mean it like that."

Cas' lip twitched, "Its fine. I can go on my own I'm not a child."

"Yeah," he pressed, "But you asked and-"

"Its been ten years, alright?" he snapped, setting the coffee mug down on the side. Then, more quietly, "She died ten years ago." He turned the mug, staring at the black coffee like an abyss that would suck him in should he look away, "I just...didnt want to go alone."

Understandable. Cas' anxiety and stuff had been getting better, but worse too. When it did happen, most of the time Dean wasnt there to stop it. He stopped sending Cas out for groceries alone, he confessed to Dean the thought he might see someone from the Rapture scared him shitless somehow. Instead they went together and that way Dean learned how to spot when it was happening. Like how he tended to pull his hands inside his sleeves, fiddle with his cuffs or his ring or Rosary, and wipe his palms on his jeans. But just cos he knew how to spot it didnt mean he could always help. Still, he'd prefer it if he was present if Cas had an episode, he'd googled it. And Cas caught him. And Cas growled at him that just because he'd googled 'panic attacks' didnt make him a goddamn expert. He just wanted to be a little more informed thats all...

Dean used to visit his moms grave a lot before dad died, now not so much. It didnt hurt so much anymore, maybe because he'd been young and it was so long ago. But he wanted to go nevertheless, he could go for mom and dad too, pay respect or whatever it was people did. But churches. Religion. Priests with the dog collar things. _Pamphlets_ , god forbid. Did he really want to face that?

"When are we leaving?"

Castiel smiled briefly and didnt say anything, instead choosing to sip away at his coffee with his eyes shut, head tipped back listening to the radio. Dean swore he saw him mouth the words _'Some things could be better, if we'd all just let them be...'_

* * *

The church was big, intimidating even as Dean walked up the pathway to it. This was all home to Castiel though, he thought. He thought of how he said his dad was a missionary, how he traveled, he must've seen much grander places than this old church. Dean might as well have been walking into high school again, it was that weird and maybe a little scary. He half expected Cas to cross himself as he passed over the threshold, and seriously contemplated doing it himself. Wasnt that just what they did?

Castiel seemed almost disappointed to find it empty, like he thought that someone would actually be here to greet them. He followed the man up the aisle, sliding into a pew beside him and waiting for something. He didnt really know what he expected, but when Cas simply leaned forward and rested his forehead on clasped hands, that Rosary of dark wood dangling from them, Dean was at a loss. He waited for Cas to sit up again, totally not entranced by his lips moving minutely, his lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks flushed pink from the cold outside. And when he did, he threw him a tentative smile. 

"She would take me to places like this," Cas murmured, it was louder in the quiet church, "Wherever we happened to be. She had me christened in Romania, it was her favourite place."

"You went a lot of places, huh?" 

Castiel nodded, running gentle fingers over the beads, "Yes. It was...good. While it lasted." His face fell, and he bent his head pinching the bridge of his nose and Dean had a moment of panic that he might be having one of his anxiety attacks or whatever. But he simply took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. "That was a long time ago, though. Tell me, you never talk about your parents."

Dean shifted on the surprisingly soft cushions, "Well...they're both dead. Not much to say, really. Mom died, house fire, when I was four. Dad left us like, five years ago and thats it."

"You werent close?"

"No its not that," he sighed, "I was four when mom died, and me and dad... Even if we didnt- we're still family, you know?"

Castiel made a sound of agreement, and held out the Rosary for him to take which surprised Dean. It was weightier than he expected. "Mom made it," he explained, "Its the only thing I have left of her. You have your photograph, I have memories and a Rosary."

Dean sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at a particularly interesting window of stained glass that cast a blue-green shape of light on them, with one little spot of pink across Cas' chest. Then asked "So are you okay, now? Like, you're not..."

Castiel sighed quietly, gazing at Deans hands that held his Rosary so delicately, "I will be. Here," he wrapped Deans fingers tighter around the beads, "You should say something, for your mother perhaps."

"Uh..." he rolled one of the beads under his thumb, "I...uh, hi doesnt seem right, does it? I-I mean..." he looked up to Cas for help because he's never done this before in his life, but he was sitting there with his eyes closed so he went on just letting his mouth run. "I um... hope you're not too disappointed in me. Sams doin' great, you should see him- _God_ I wish you could've seen him grow up... I dont know... Oh! You should meet my buddy Cas, he's pretty awesome. A little cracked, but hey so am I. Okay I have no idea what I'm doing."

When he looked up from his hands, Castiel was smiling still with his eyes shut. Dean swore that pink in his cheeks was no longer from the cold because it was pretty warm in here, which only served to boost Deans ego ridiculously. He nearly forgot the Rosary in his hands and almost reached out to take Cas by the wrist.

He felt like he'd break it if he wasnt careful so he pressed it into Cas' open palm again. He remembered him saying how he had a box full of Rosaries back home, and Dean hoped that, one day, he'd see them all. They were part of Cas, so to speak, and something in Dean wanted to learn him inside out. Cas' fingers curled around the beads, around Deans fingers too, and they stayed like that for a long while. The only thing Dean could hear was his own heart thundering in his ears and if he could feel anything else other than Castiels hand, it was lost.

* * *

Cas has one day left here before he’s due to leave for a road trip all the way to New Jersey. They had a little to do, a few drinks, a few people over. Just Sam, Charlie and Jo, and the girls left before ten. Something to send him off with, he supposed. He had packed the car up with a few things like his clothes and a few snacks for the road, he was all ready to go with the promise he’d come back. Now Sam passed out on the couch still clutching a bottle of beer, and Dean was left to sit with Cas in the dim living room. He didn’t want Cas to be gone too long, after spending so much time with him, baring his soul to Dean and Dean holding it in his hands like a baby bird.

He went to the kitchen to put his glass by the sink, Cas followed. Each breath loud in the quiet dark, the only light coming from the window and a flickering streetlamp outside. Before he could really question it, not that he wanted to, Cas’ wide palm rubbed over his hipbone, their foreheads touched, breath mingled, no words were said. The countertop was cold on his waist, a contrast to Cas’ thumb grazing his hip. And he honestly found it the most endearing that Cas was stretching just a little to make them the same height, that _whole two inches_ really made a difference.

“Thank you,” Cas breathed, so close to his lips but still a hairsbreadth away from touching them, “I was so broken, I gave you no reason to do anything.”

“Its okay,” he mumbled back, closing his eyes.

“One last night before I’m gone,” he huffed a quiet laugh that only made Dean want to kiss him more, “What’re your thoughts?”

Dean smiled, “Are you giving me a twisted version of the last night on Earth speech?”

“More like _Last Night With Dean_ speech,” their lips brushed, sending a shock through him.

“Its not forever,” Dean contradicted himself, reaching up to cup the back of Cas’ neck. His thumb brushed the little scar behind his ear and Cas shuddered under his touch, nosing his cheek softly.

“It feels like forever when you’re away from the one who holds your heart,” Cas murmured, saying possibly the sweetest thing he’s ever said to Dean. He’s moved on a lot from ‘Screw you’ at the very start. Dean had to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I-“ he managed before Cas was kissing him in the most gentle way he’s ever been kissed. Sucking just a little on his lip, his hand coming to cup his face with his fingers splayed on his cheek. His wide lips were softer than he’d imagined them to be, and each second he spent lingering there made Dean want to keep him in his arms for longer.

Cas led him by the hand away from the kitchen to Deans room with his heart pounding a thousand miles an hour in his chest. With the door shut behind them, Cas planted his hands either side of Deans shoulders and the wood gave out a creak under his and Deans combined weight. He smelled like everything Dean wanted, a heady concoction that had his senses singing. He started on the buttons on Cas’ shirt, and Cas kissed him again, over and over until his shirt was on the floor and Dean was drunk with _him_. He wanted all this and more. Dean ran his hands everywhere he found skin, kissed the sunburst scar on his shoulder from the bullet he took a year ago and Cas gave a low, quiet moan of something not English between his parted lips.

“Say my name,” Cas said in his ear, “I love when you say it. It sounds beautiful.”

“Castiel,” he made his voice low, and Cas smiled on his skin, “You’re beautiful, Cas.”

Cas’ fingers pressed into his skin, then without hesitation pushed Deans shirt up over his stomach and Dean raised his arms to let him tug it over his head. His head swam, each touch driving him insane. Just like Cas to keep driving him nuts.

Dean backed them up to the bed, Cas kicked off his jeans, helping Dean out of his, dragging his lips up Deans body on the way back to his mouth, and laid back to let Dean come straddle his hips and press closer than before. If this was their last night for weeks then Dean was gonna make sure it was good, falling into it with Cas with no intention regretting it later. Deans last conscious thought got lost in the quiet huffs coming from Castiels lips.

_About fucking time._


	13. In That Book Which Is My Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler fluff, no triggers here i dont think.  
> My friend has started doing some art (which I will insert at a later date) and posted it on her blog

Castiel had fallen asleep to Dean curled against his side, a reassuring weight telling him this was real, all this was his. When he woke, it was Deans finger tracing his tattoo in the early morning light streaming in through the window. He lay on his front, arms crossed under the pillow. And he realised that this was the first time in a long time he’d slept soundly, without nightmares, and for the first time he couldn’t even feel the anxiety lurking just under his skin. For a while, it seemed, it had left him alone for a few hours at least.

Without a shirt he felt naked, with only his boxer briefs and the sheets draped across his hips. It meant whoever was looking could see his tattoo and the many questionable scars from various 'caught in the crossfire' moments. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and Dean wasn’t lying on the pillow opposite, he supposed he was sitting up. Castiel frowned when his fingers brushed something cold under the pillow and closed around a familiar shape that fit too easily in his palm.

“Dean,” he asked, voice sleep rough and quiet, “Why’s there a gun under here?”

The finger on his back paused and Dean hummed to himself, “Habit.”

“You have a habit of keeping a gun under your pillow,” he mused, “Glad to know it isn’t just me.”

“I told you, we’re both cracked.” Dean laid both palms flat on his shoulders, Cas let himself make a positively pornographic sound as he rubbed down over his back, down his sides and back up again, finding every knot along the way and teasing it out with his fingers.

“Shh,” Dean hissed, making him smile sleepily, “My brothers awake, what if he hears you?”

Castiel drew the gun out from under the pillow to place it on the windowsill, hugging the amazingly soft pillow and pressed his face into it while Deans touch drove him mental. “Not what you were sayin’ last night.”

Dean scolded him, smacking the back of his head playfully. He could get used to this, really quickly. If every morning for the rest of forever was like this, he’d be okay with that.

“Well its true,” he moaned, “And ‘sides, if you keep doin’ that its only gonna get worse.” When Deans hands stopped he protested, “Didnt say stop...”

The mans hands returned with a dark chuckle and he let them wander everywhere. Massaging his shoulders, over his biceps, trailing a teasing finger down his spine. Even just his touch drove him up the wall in the best way, and he found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep relatively quiet, and rolled his hips down into the mattress for just a little friction, _something_.

“W-we should get breakfast,” he said weakly, rolling over to get away from Deans hands possibly, but they only did the same to his front which was even more frustrating. Dean bent to kiss him sweetly, moving his mouth torturously slow on his and taking his time like this was the only time he had with him for the rest of his life. He ran his tongue over Cas’ lip, and he didn’t even need to ask more than that for Castiel to part them and let Dean kiss him in a way not even Meg had.

Dean straddled his thighs then, rolling his hips slowly as he continued his maddening caress. Breakfast could wait. He had everything he wanted right here. He tugged at Deans t-shirt, giving a pathetic moan when Dean pulled away and sat back on his thighs.

“You’re right,” Dean said too calmly, and made to move out of Cas’ lap, “We should get breakfast.”

No. That little shit wasnt getting away with it. Cas grabbed Deans hips, sitting him the hell back down and leaned up to kiss him impatiently. “Breakfast can go fuck itself,” he growled possessively on Deans mouth.

Dean only laughed and had his wicked way with Castiel (with a hand clamped over his mouth, mind you) like he’d probably planned all along.

* * *

He made some dumb excuse to his brother that since he'd been occupying the entire length of the couch, Castiel had to sleep in his bed. He didnt look like he believed it for a second. But it was easier for him to stomach than 'Yeah I slept with him and it wasnt really meant to happen but its been on the cards since pretty much last year so suck it up.' Castiel was in the shower because he'd somehow managed to jump up quicker than Dean and beat him to it. At some point he reappeared around the kitchen doorway, and this morning he'd ditched the shirt altogether opting for just a pair of jeans that, even buttoned up, still hung too loose. Dean had a sneaking suspicion that he'd deliberately picked up a pair that definitely werent his own. He threw Dean a lazy smile when he caught him looking and apparently didnt even notice Sam putting two and two together.

"Hey if you two need some time alone-"

"Sam!" he admonished, turning beet red and being utterly transparent. Cas flushed too, looking down at his feet instead. He was grateful in a weird way that he'd picked that instead of the patchwork of scars, and the biggest sunburst one, to make one of his comments on.

Sam smirked and knocked back the last of his coffee, "Fine. Hey Cas since you're leaving today you can give me a ride back to Bobbys. Save Dean the trouble."

"Well...actually I'm kinda - _really_ \- hungover," Cas lied through his teeth, he was nowhere near hungover, "I'm gonna have to sleep it off, sorry."

His brother scowled, "Dean?"

He shook his head and folded the newspaper again, "Fine, alright. What happened to 'I jog every morning because I'm a health freak,' huh?"

"Cas isnt the only one hungover. And my jogging buddy isnt here, she's back-"

Dean rose from his chair, taking the plate that once held two slices of toast with him to the sink, "Okay just get your jacket on."

He had turned his cars speakers up as loud as he dared, just to irritate his brother. Okay kind of to avoid the inevitable "I deduce that you are sleeping with Castiel" talk. He really didnt need that today. He- they're barely started, just finding their feet. And Cas has so many things he needs to sort first before anything really big happens, even if last night happened. So thats why he didnt know why Cas chose to stay.

* * *

"You liar," Dean said as soon as he set foot inside the door, "You had like two beers last night, that does not constitute a hangover."

Castiel lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and he still had a little voice at the back of his mind reminding him of how Dean could see every one of his scars. And even though he didnt have the track marks up and down his arms like ninety percent of addicts had, it still told him to cover up. It was the fact that anyone could see the pale marks left behind by various things, glass and blades and bullets, that made him edgy. Thats the whole point, he's pushing his boundaries. It doesnt seem like pushing, or anything forceful, around Dean though. More like testing the water, seeing how he reacts.

He shrugged and didnt look away from the dog-shaped bit of plaster on the roof, "I would've felt bad. Leaving after...last night."

"Well dont, I wouldnt mind."

He ran through what he'd discussed with himself this morning in the shower, and Dean moved his legs to sit down. It was an easy gesture like they'd been doing this for years. Maybe Dean was just better at this than he was. "And I sort of wanted to, maybe...go get uh, checked out."

"Checked out?"

Castiel swallowed around the weird tightness that formed at the notion of talking to someone about himself other than Dean who he trusted, "Yeah. As in get my head checked out. Before I leave, just in case cos you wont be around."

"Okay, we can do that."

He chewed his lip, "I dont mean... If you want you can wait in the car but I sort of want to do this on my own." He shut his eyes as Deans fingers brushed the skin around the scar tissue where the bullet hit his shoulder. He couldnt feel anything there, it was just void. It didnt really bother him, because there were a few spots like that. 

"Its your choice," Dean mumbled, his hand lay flat along his collarbone, "I'll be waiting for you when you come back."

He let his eyes slip closed, and he never wanted to leave this spot even if it felt like he was intruding on Deans personal space somehow with his legs across his lap, and Dean had been the one to put them there. He just wasnt used to this level of domesticity, or maybe the notion that someone actually wanted him around. And Cas had half a mind to just stay here. Avoid going to New Jersey and just stay with Dean because he's a safe place, and he thinks that bastard might have been right when he said 'He's in love.' 

Thats what he's scared of, though. Is he in love, or in love with the idea of what he could have? Is he just selfish and the only thing he craves is the affection Dean so willingly gives to him, not the things he could give back? He does want to give Dean things, anything he can. But then so fucking what if he's selfish? Why cant he have one thing he wants for once in his goddamn life? 

"You've gone quiet," Dean murmured and he opened an eye to finally look at him, his hair was damp from whatever it was doing outside, "You okay?"

Castiel pushed up on his elbows and tried for the same grin he gave Dean this morning, but it faltered a little. He found it harder to lie to Dean now than before, some part of him completely abhorred the idea and it made him feel sick in the same way that came before he lost it.  Deans eyes, infinitely sad today, searched his for some sign of what could be the matter when in reality he didnt know himself.

He had absolutely no idea how to answer, so he replied "Did you know that tulips are supposed to mean 'beautiful eyes?'" which was possibly the weirdest thing he could have said. But his brain refused to think of anything other than Deans eyes and things relating to how fucking pretty they were.

Dean laughed and the hand on his collarbone ghosted down to his stomach to lie there maddeningly warm, "Well I do now."

"And red Peonies mean devotion," his mouth said without his permission, and he regretted his useless knowledge of flowers. He wasnt a gardener, hell he didnt even know how to keep a cactus alive. He thought you just bought flowers at the store to put in vases then throw away a week later when they were all dead.

"Didnt know you were such a botanist, Castiel," Deans thumb worked in slow circles, driving him nuts for some reason.

"I'm not," he said, trying to ignore Deans hand, "My parents were those gross people that bought each other flowers except they took it to the next level and learned the meanings and I "

Dean grinned lopsidedly and used Cas' hand to tug him up into a sitting position, awkwardly maneuvering him to sit across his lap, "Okay genius, get a life and go outside. If you're lucky you'll discover the sun."

He snorted and ran a finger over the exposed skin at Deans neck, "You're the pale one, nerd."

When Dean kissed him, he found he did it with care like he wanted to make damn sure Castiel knew he mattered. Maybe _thats_ what he needed, the knowledge he mattered to at least one person on this earth. Someone he could belong to and lay claim to in turn. Castiel decided now that he wanted this and nothing more. He didnt even care if he took five more years to see his dad, Dean mattered more. Deans fingers traced the line of his ribs, danced over the scar at his hip and tickled the hair leading down from his navel into the borrowed jeans. He'd worn them on purpose, just to get a reaction out of Dean somehow. He always worried that he was asking more than he deserved from Dean, even if he seemed more than willing to give. It was probably just the anxiety talking, and even still he thought everything would come back to bite him in the ass later and he should get as far away from Dean as possible so he wouldnt turn into collateral damage. But _hello_ , selfish bastard that thought fuck it I can have this.

He made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat to mimic Deans, "Blue violets, primrose."

"What?" Dean pulled back a little, as far as Cas would let him, and he repeated what he'd said. "And that means?"

Castiel kissed his cheek, "Figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter here, but lemme tell you, next time I might just include tickle fights and actually get on with the fucking story instead of stalling on fluff and *self discovery* and I'll get on with Cas and stuff and his adventures  
> I used this website for the flower things and its actually really interesting (By interesting i mean you can insult people without them knowing lol)  
> http://www.languageofflowers.com/flowermeaning.htm


	14. An Uncharted Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll get back to normal soon honest

Cas used to fantasize about how far Deans freckles actually went to an unhealthy extent. Now he thought about his face freckles, his arm freckles, the ones on his back and down his chest. Over the phone he liked to tease him about his cute butt freckles, he couldn’t wait until he came home to feel Dean under his hands again. He cherished that night they shared, the morning after when they woke up, and the whole day they had to themselves. And when they lay face to face with their fingers knotted on the sheets in the early hours of a wet, sleet covered morning, and the five minutes they had before Cas drove off. In those five minutes Cas thanked everyone, but pulled Dean down for a long kiss with everyone making some sort of elated noise in the background except for Bobby who choked on his beer and then claimed that _he fucking knew it._

While he drove, sometimes he would run his thumb over his lips with a smile because he _kissed_ Dean. Okay he did more than that but he could himself think on the kisses. They were his favourite.

The nights were lonely and long. After you’ve slept next to someone your bed just feels emptier, colder. And the only  thing keeping him from going back now was the fact that he was going back earlier than planned anyway. Sam had called him a few times, arranged for him to come back on Christmas Eve. Surprise Dean and make him smile. Apparently this Christmas would be spent at Bobby’s house.  

He thought about how he’d stretch up on his toes to reach his lips, card his fingers through Deans hair and kiss every freckle he could find. He’d worship Deans body with kisses and touches enough to make him dizzy. It got him through the moments he started feeling a little anxious, distracted him enough to work through it. The guy he spoke to gave him pointers on how to do it, one of which was just to distract himself and not think about what was making him feel that way. And the phone calls to Dean helped too, even a little. Dean made him swear to call him when he got to his first motel near Chicago. He'd wanted to drive all the way, he's done it before, but Dean " _mother-hen_ " Winchester wouldnt let him. They're both as bad as each other.

He wasnt just going to New Jersey though. Cas always wanted to see New York, of all the places he'd been he'd never seen it. Only, he hadnt told Dean this bit, he wanted to keep that part to himself and just send him a random picture or something. And he'd be away for a few weeks, setting things straight with his dad and seeing things he never fully appreciated before. 

"How do you even have money?" Dean asked him when he called. Cas lay on the motel bed, cold and empty and uncomfortable, wishing he was in an actual home. He'd gotten too comfortable with domesticity in the last couple of weeks.

He picked at the frayed comforter, "I'm sure you're no stranger to hustling pool, Dean. And they paid me. Not much but I got by."

Dean huffed, such an incredibly Dean gesture he had to smile, "When you get back we're making you an employed man, and you're gonna quit gambling you addict."

Castiel gave a dramatic sigh and laid his head back on the pillow that smelled funny, "Married life is gonna be so _boring_."

"You bet your ass it is."

"We'll just have to find something else to do..."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, horndog," Dean laughed, making Castiel smile bigger. He missed Dean already and its not even been a day.

"I was thinking more crochet and knitting, since I'm tame now."

"Yeah right," he muttered. Cas wanted nothing more than to be back there with him, fall asleep with tangled limbs under the sheets. He'd never been a romantic, he got the feeling this was new to Dean too. They could figure this out in time but he did know there was no one else he'd rather do that with. But one thing weighed on his mind still, what happens when the police do find him? Does he lie, or tell a twisted version of the truth? Either way, theres a huge possibility he'd get caught and this little life he'd finally allowed himself to start imagining would be lost.

Dean commented he'd gone quiet again. "Sorry," he wiped a hand down his face, "Just tired I guess. Been a long day."

It wasnt completely a lie.

* * *

Dean woke up late to a text on his phone, someone had sent him a picture at seven am. He opened it with bleary eyes, stifling a yawn, and it took him a minute to process the image and the words and put them together, and even then he was too tired to even bother looking. He decided to have a coffee first, ignoring how empty the house felt. So ten minutes later, coffee in hand and slightly more awake, he sat cross legged on his bed with his phone in front of him and opened up the picture again.

Castiel was the first thing he noticed, and he thought it was strange because Cas wasnt a selfie-sending kind of person, but there he was with a lopsided grin and- 

And New York lit up by a sunrise behind him, with the simple message " _I'm in NYC_ " and nothing else. He vaguely remembered Castiel saying something about wanting to see New York but he didnt think he'd actually go there anytime soon. That son of a bitch, he did that deliberately, he didnt tell him about it just to spite him. Goddammit he wanted to see the city too! He found himself grinning nevertheless as he typed out a (very) belated reply.

_**(11:04) You:** And when were u going to tell me?_

He managed to drink half of his coffee in the time it took Cas to reply, which further proved he should go to bed earlier instead of staying up all night on X-Box with Charlie. There were far better ways to kill himself than sleep deprivation. 

_**(11:06) Cas:** I just did_

_**(11:07) Cas:** You better appreciate how early I had to get up for that picture_

_**(11:08) You:** Youre taking me there someday_

_**(11:10) Cas:** I'll bring you back a mini statue of liberty_

* * *

He went to New Jersey where he grew up, Bobby had given him the address but he still fretted he’d got the wrong house. A big, white thing, with a garden that grew various vegetables and a few viney things running up trellises at the side of the front door. He felt the anxiety start to scratch at his insides and thought of Dean, his voice telling him it'd all turn out okay eventually, but it didnt help. The  Now or never.

He stepped out, the address in his hand for a Mr Shurley. He pushed open the waist-height gate, made his way up the path and lingered on the porch for a second before knocking. He wanted to turn and run. The man was taking too long to answer, maybe he wasn’t in. Maybe he should just go-

The white door slowly swung open and a sad faced man stared at the manuscript in his hands with a sort of disgruntled expression.

“A-are you Chuck Shurley?” he asked though he knew the answer, because he recognised him, he fucking knew him like he had all his life. Sure he was older, greying, but thats age. Its him, His hands shook, he felt sick because he didn’t know if he’d even want to see him. What if he was angry with Castiel? What if he yelled, turned him away, blamed him for everything? He deserved it, but he didnt, couldnt take it anymore. He'd grown soft in the past six months.

“Yeah, what do you want?” he adjusted his glasses and glanced up at Cas, double-taking like he saw but he wasn’t sure. Then realisation crept across his face, and a flicker of hope.

“Dad,” he said, and his voice shook like hell, “Its me, its Castiel, I’m-“

“Oh my-“ the manuscript dropped and Cas felt the mans arms around him for the first time in almost a decade, and by God he hugged him back because even if he didn’t deserve it he’d missed him. “I thought you were dead!”

“I know,” Cas gripped the back of his housecoat like a safety blanket, his anxiety almost forgotten, “I know, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry for everything.”

He felt like a child again, apologising for knocking over a glass or breaking a plate. He wasnt just saying sorry for running away, he was saying sorry for how he acted, the things he did, his addiction, everything in between then and now. He could only hope to be forgiven, because Castiel sure as hell couldnt do it on his own so why should he expect to come back here after so many years and be taken back with open arms? He didnt.

“So am I,” Chucks voice cracked a little. His dad lifted his head, and there were tears on his face as he invited Castiel inside, and commented on how grown up he was with the kind smile he remembered from before.


	15. Smoke In The Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks (At the end) and abandonment issues on Deans behalf

 When Castiel got home, really home, at around nine on Christmas morning, Sam saw first. He opened the door to Bobby’s house before he could knock and pulled him inside, hushing him. He pushed Cas toward the stairs and stuck a red bow in his hair. 

“Spare me the details,” he said, “Go up and see him. And get some sleep, you look like hammered crap.”

“I’d like to see what you look like after driving ten hours straight,” he grumbled.

He skulked up to Deans room, trying to be quiet, and closed the door behind him. The heavy rosewood box in his hands rattled quietly with the beads inside, and he hoped Dean wouldnt mind that all he got him was a promise and a tiny version of Lady Liberty.  He knelt in front of the bed were he slept, feeling like a creep. And he was nervous too, as well as being almost uncontrollably excited about seeing him there all wrapped up in his sheets. Cas blew softly on his face, and he stirred a little, so he said his name in a whisper.

Cas couldnt help himself, kissing Dean on the forehead as he stirred.

“Castiel?” he slowly opened his eyes. Cas smiled like an idiot. Dean grinned like he was drunk.

“Hey, you,” he mumbled, Dean grinned wider.

“You’re early.”

“You’re in bed.”

“And you’re not,” Dean threw back the covers, “In.”

Cas couldn’t refuse that, shrugging off his jacket, pulling off his shoes and climbing in to face Dean under the covers leaving the box on the floor. He missed this, even if it had only been twice before. He pressed his cold hands on Deans back under his shirt, and he arched away from the cold touch only succeeding in bringing himself closer to Cas. He smiled and nosed at the skin under Deans ear, Dean swore under his breath and took his hands from behind his back to press them between their chests and warm them

"You're fucking freezing," Dean paused and flicked the bow, “You’ve got a bow in your hair. You my present?”

He forgot about that, “Merry Christmas. Its not much.”

“Shh,” Dean kissed him for a long time, Cas leaned into it and gave a low moan. He’d missed it so much. And he barely knew he was doing it, pushing Deans shirt up more, rolling them until he hovered over Dean and kissed a line down his throat.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean stopped him with a finger on his lips, “In this house we open our presents after breakfast. Tonight, when we go home, I promise.” He kissed his nose, then his mouth again, “I want to, really. Just not at Bobby’s.”

Cas huffed, but smiled, shifting off of him. He was content to just sleep with Deans fingers curled into his shirt and his breath warming his collarbone. Deans hand came up and took the bow out of his hair, sticking it to the headboard before coming back to his hair and stroking through it tenderly. And Cas damn near purred in pleasure from the warm fingers touching him so carefully, gently. He felt his eyelids double in weight, and yawned against his will.

“You know,” Dean murmured softly, “I think what you need is a couple hours sleep.”

Cas grinned, settling down with his face pressed into Deans neck. He loved Dean. He knew he loved Dean. This time when he fell asleep he wasn’t imagining the warmth beside him, and he slept dreamlessly and deeply. He was home.

* * *

At Bobby’s house they’d sat on the sofa with a chaste distance between them that Cas was just itching to close and hold Dean tighter than ever. They'd had a good time too, the first Christmas Castiel had eaten something other than a take out or nothing at all for a long time, around an actual table, with present opening and people being happy and laughing- And Dean had loved the dumb gifts. Even the little souvenir, which was pretty crap. He'd ran the Rosary's through his fingers over and over, ever so carefully as Castiel spun his tales about whichever country they came from. They barely got inside the door before Dean pinned him against it, kissing him hot and hard. He whispered to Cas all the things he would do to him, all of which went straight to Cas’ dick and he was half hard already. 

“Of course,” Dean said nice and low in Castiels ear between mouthing at the little scar under it, “I’d rather someone did all that to me.”

Castiel grinned and flipped them, because this is what he was good at. Or so Dean told him. Worshiping every inch of his body and then some, so that he begged for more. He pushed a leg between Deans, running his hands up his sides and rucking his shirt up. His jeans sat low on his hips, showing the waistband of his boxers. He dipped to kiss Deans belly, glancing up to catch his broadening smile.

“I _love_ your body,” another kiss a little farther up, “And your brain. Your heart thats four sizes too big and your soul thats the brightest I’ve ever met.”

He leaned up, pressing close as he dared to Dean and kissed him square on the mouth. Dean ran his fingers up into his hair humming happily to himself and let himself get lost in it, Cas knew because his eyes fluttered shut when he trailed his finger up Deans neck, along his jaw, over the sweep of his cheekbone and curled around the shell of his ear.

“You’re perfect. You’re my soulmate, I’m sure. You’re _mine_.”

“You're a poetic dweeb,” Dean moaned quietly under him, and Cas knew. “I love you.”

“I know,” Cas smiled, kissing a line down his neck and sucking a mark onto the skin just under his jaw, “C _ă te iubesc_.”

“Whats that mean?”

And Castiel grinned at Deans half desperate tone sneaking into the question, “I love you.”

Dean probably called him a dork, and his hands definitely buried themselves in his scruffy hair. He couldn’t think how he’d ever wanted anything other than this.

* * *

He left. He just...left.

Dean woke up to his bed empty, a note saying he was out to get them coffee and he loved him, his car was still parked outside, but he was gone. Three days ago. He couldnt believe it, after everything and he was just gone. Part of him worried like fuck, another was angry because it was just like him to leave, thats Cas for you. His Rosary box still sat on the table where they'd left it. Little things lay around, reminding Dean he lived here for a month. He had a job and everything, he was getting his life on track, and now its all for nothing. 

Dean knew he probably just got bored, everyone did eventually. He wanted to say he wasnt bothered but he really was and a few times he got slaughtered on X-Box by the other players and Charlie yelled at him for not paying attention even outside the virtual world. In honesty, he was struggling to process it at the moment, the reason his house didnt feel welcoming or how the scratched Polo on the street outside gave him a weird sickly feeling in his gut.

The first bouquet came a week after he disappeared and Dean did well to ignore it, which lasted for all of two hours. The little tag came from an anonymous sender, and the flowers were... Hyacinths, purple of the nicest shade. And even though Dean wasnt one for flowers or anything, he found a vase somewhere and put them on the table. A day later, another bunch arrived on his doorstep and the delivery guy commented someone must really love him, Dean only scowled and accepted the anonymous gift, focusing on finding somewhere to put them.

This time they were pink Camellias, whatever the hell they were. And by the third or fourth bunch he started getting annoyed because these flowers were coming from somewhere, and he had nowhere to put them, he had half a mind to call Charlie and tell her to own up an quit it because this is something she'd do to spite him, except the last bunch was tied with the usual paper, and a very familiar looking Rosary. Castiels to be exact. And Dean was almost relieved but mostly pissed because he had the time to go and send fucking flowers but not enough to call him and tell him he's okay? Or even answer the phone for that matter.

He held the Rosary in his hands and a brief, half there memory came to him, and something about Cas' parents. How they would send each other flowers with meanings and-

He grabbed for the tag on the flowers, Monkshood. Dean threw the bouquet in the basin he'd been keeping the flowers in, going to the next bunch which held white hyacinths, and went through them all until he had a list of purple and white hyacinths, pink carnations and camellias, monkshood, daffodils, petunias and forget-me-nots. Cas had said "Figure it out." He guessed this was the one time it was okay to google something about Cas.

So twenty minutes of frantic typing later he had a notepad with scribbled half messages on them that he stared at blankly, because he wasnt quite processing this. All the websites had slightly differing meanings so he just compiled them all in one and it confused him no fucking end.

_"I am sorry/please forgive me. I'll pray for you. I'll never forget you. Beware/A deadly foe is near. Unrequited Love/You're the only one/The sun is always shining when I'm with you. Resentment/anger/your presence soothes me. True love/memories/dont forget me"_

Half of it didnt make sense to Dean, but he double underlined the Beware part. He said, in the very beginning, that Cas was a lot like his dad. And for all his dad was a drunk maniac, he was clever. He used coordinates and Morse, he was a marine, he was one of the smartest men Dean knew. If Cas was anything like his dad, and he was in trouble, this is exactly the kind of idiotic shit he'd do instead of finding a payphone. 

He made himself a promise to find Cas somehow and tell him what an idiot he is, but until then he'd wait and if he came home on his own, he'd break his nose and kiss him.

* * *

Castiel had only gone out for coffee and to get something nice for breakfast for them, he hadnt been expecting the car to pull up alongside him, two bouncer-type guys to get out and shepherd (force) him into the back seat. A cold feeling leapt in his chest and it wasnt from the weather either. It tightened its hold when he saw his face, that utter bastard he thought he'd never see again. 

"Gabriel?" he would have spilled the coffee had he still been holding it. He'd dropped it in the street. "

"Save me the 'I thought you were dead' speech," he said from the front and offered him a hard candy which he declined, "They _thought_ they'd killed me, but they missed."

He clenched his fists and leaned forward only to have the dark skinned bouncer push him back into the seat with a hefty hand, but he managed a growl anyway, "You son of a _bitch_! You couldnt call? Couldnt-"

"No," Gabe replied with finality, "And you cant either. Lucifers not dead."

"You're lying," he had to be! Lucifer had taken a headshot, dead on the ground. Cas watched him bleed out himself. The car took a turn out of the town and Cas wished it'd just turn back, he wanted to go home, hold Dean, kiss him, tell him how much he meant to him. Basically any other day. The anxiety crept back, and he remembered he had an appointment with his therapist at two, he couldnt just- "Gabe, I'm _out_. I dont do this anymore."

Gabriel watched him in the mirror. He was more sullen than Castiel had seen him in years. He turned back to the road and took another turn, heading up a beat up track to an off-the-grid looking place. A big, old manor house. Gabriel went on like he hadnt heard him, "The guy you saw dead was a sort of stunt double. Turns out Lucy knew about the little assassin in the rafters, and he took precautions. Notice how it all seemed a little scripted to you?"

He refused to play into his hands, "I'm not- I'm going home."

"There wont be a home to go to if you dont do this, Cas!" he pressed, Castiel felt himself shut down slowly. Thats what he always did in this situation, his mind slowly switched off to everything and cut off every emotion just to avoid an inevitable episode, "This life you've got, your dad, your little _boy-toy_ ," he couldnt help bristling at Gabe's tone, "All that'll disappear, Cas. Lucifer's still alive and he's after our asses."

He'd known it was too good to be true from the start, he never just _got_ there was always a price for people like him. He dug his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood as the two men ushered him out of the car onto the gravel driveway, and herded him after Gabriel. He really wished they would stop touching him it was making him want to literally bite them and cower like an animal. Gabriel talked as he walked up the stairs to the mansion.

"Alright, you know the drill." He held out a hand, "Phone-"

"No."

Gabriel paused in pushing open the door turned to frown at him and the fact he actually said no. This was just PR whenever they picked up and had to leave for whatever reason. New phones, numbers, ID's, all that. "Cas, we need to-"

"No," he said again, "I'll turn it off, I'll take out the sim, but I'm not destroying it." He had pictures on there of Dean, both of them and their life they'd built. He wasnt getting rid of that, not if Gabriel wanted him sane enough to do his job. He supposed he was the muscle here, since thats what he's good at. He gets in and out, gets jobs done, knows his stuff. And he has a grudge against Lucifer strong enough to kill.

Gabriel scowled but nodded, sighing. "He's still got some influence in some of the older guys, they're following him. And they're all looking for _you_ , Cas. The best thing for you to do is keep Dean oblivious, they might not kill him if they think you got bored and left."

"And I'm just supposed to leave Dean to think I abandoned him?" he snapped. He couldnt fucking do that to Dean, holy fuck he couldnt. His breath came quicker and everything his therapist told him disappeared from his mind, and if he was perfectly honest he this was the first time in a while he'd actually felt real anxiety instead of the trivial every day things, like when Dean asked him to do the dishes before he got home and Cas forgot and worried Dean would be mad for 0.5 seconds.

"Yes, you are. So, you in?" Gabriel asked hopefully. 

And suddenly, a half hysterical laugh bubbled up out of his throat, echoing in the big entrance hall as he laughed so hard he thought he was choking. Cas didnt even know why he was laughing, he wanted to fucking _cry_! After all he'd done, and they still asked more? This was a fucking joke, it had to be a joke and Gabe'd laugh too and they'd drive him home and he'd see Dean, they'd go for breakfast and Cas would go to his appointment, and after dinner they'd watch TV and- Fucking _Satans child_ this was a piss-poor idea of a joke!

The two guys were exchanging looks like they were questioning their involvement with the clearly mentally unstable man Gabriel had brought here, and Gabriel himself even looked like he was wondering just how insane Castiel was. While Castiel doubled over wheezing, his laughter died and then he really was choking, biting back suffocating sobs and falling to his knees because why the fuck couldnt he just have what he wanted for once? When he finally decided ' _This is what I want_ ' it was all ripped away from him again like baiting a dog with treats and smacking it on the nose when it got them. Only the smack was a punch to the gut and the treats were happiness.

"Leave him be," Gabriel said to the men hovering close to him as Castiel pulled on large chunks of his hair and bent forward until his forehead touched the dusty floor and let the attack take hold. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, not over yet my dears. Not by miles :3


	16. Coward Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks

It only took a week before Castiel picked up his first cigarette that hadnt been offered to him by anyone. The stress of this job, that he was determined to finish as soon as possible so he could be done for good, had been inducing ridiculous amounts of anxiety, so he thought ' _What the hell?_ ' and pick-pocketed one of Gabriels hench-monkeys after he saw the blonde one with a cigarette outside. He'd climbed up onto the roof from the window of his temporary room and sat there in the cold, his jacket pulled tight around him as he took the first drag and choked on the quite frankly disgusting taste. He remembered it though, from the menthols Michael made him smoke to 'be social.' He fucking hated it but the hit of nicotine was a relief, if a mild one that barely dented his build up of frustration.

Gabriel had him doing quick ins and outs by day since they'd be looking for him doing it at night, the purpose of which were to gather information. Locations, numbers, things Gabriel put into his computer to plan and work out a game plan. Castiel ignored the majority of it, he just wanted it over so he could go back to Dean and finally live. He missed him so much, worse than when he went to see his dad. Probably because he was within such easy reach but he couldnt see him. He hoped Dean managed to figure out his message. 

He barely slept because his bed was too cold, too hard, and didnt have enough Dean in it. In fact, most of the time he just parked his car behind the house and slept in the back seat because at least then it sort of smelled a little like Dean from the grocery runs and trips to work when one car was more efficient. It quickly lost it though but the seats were still comfier than that goddamn spring loaded deathtrap upstairs. But still he was glad he'd made Weston the Douche go get the car for him since he wasnt allowed anywhere near Deans house.

Castiel avoided Gabriel most days, he was still pissed off at him for everything. He needed someone to blame and Gabriel was closest even if it wasnt entirely his fault. But tonight the man tempted him inside with the promise of a movie, food and a 'night off' which seemed completely unappealing to Castiel. But still, he had a lot to thank him for like all the times he stitched him back together. Thats what made him drag himself to the 'living room' and sit on the musty couch with Gabriel and pick at the food with a complete lack of interest. He just wasnt that hungry and the smell of the fried rice made him feel sick. 

"You really love that guy," Gabriel mused half way through the second film, "Dont you?"

Castiel froze and stopped playing with the cold food in the tub on his lap. So thats why he made Cas come in, after two frickin' weeks of fuck all, and the only thing he wanted was to discuss Castiels love life? Man alive he needed at least five shots of tequila and a cigarette before he was ready to talk about this to Gabriel of all people. 

"Whats it to you?" he bit back going for defensive and hostile hoping Gabriel would get the message and back the fuck off. But when one thinks of Gabriel Milton, the words _terrier_ and _bone_ come to mind. He refused to look at the man, removing the plastic tub from his lap to the table with Gabriels empty one. He'd barely touched it, a couple of bits of egg from the rice he'd claimed and that was about it. 

"Because, Cas, I care."

Castiel scowled at his hands, it felt wrong without his Rosary but he thought perhaps Dean wanted it. And that it would give him a clue to who the flowers were from. The girl behind the counter at the store had commented after the third bunch that either he was really in love or he was in deep shit and he felt like saying ' _Both_.'

"What happens if you cant protect him like you think you can?" he asked, throwing Cas a little. He hadnt thought about it because he couldnt. He wouldnt be able to do his job if he did. 

"I cant think about that," he replied honestly. Castiel left it at that, and was content to never have this conversation again, but obviously Gabriel wasnt. He pushed Castiel for an answer and Cas tried his hardest to push it out, put up the walls in his mind between Gabriels words and the anxiety that would consume him if they touched it. It already twitched under its blanket in his mind, like it heard the what if's and was eager to eat it up and grow.

"You have to think about it," Gabriel pressed for a third time upon seeing Castiel shut off to him, "What if-"

"I _dont_ _know_ , Gabriel!" he yelled and the wall came down, the dam that had been holding in his panic had been cracked all week and now it burst forth so that he only just held it together. "I dont _fucking_ know, okay?"

The men outside looked to Gabriel for any sign he needed them to intervene but stayed where they were as the crazy person fell to pieces yet again. Castiel muttered to himself how he couldnt, he couldnt think about any of that, and pulled his knees up to his chest. Both hands buried themselves in the hair at his crown and yanked on it until he couldnt feel anything else. Not the chill in the air, the scratchy sofa or Gabriels hand on his shoulder. This moment brought him back to the weeks after his mother died and dad had no clue what to do for him while he fell apart. 

He must have looked a right state, Castiel knew he was rocking a little from the momentum created by his breathing, he knew tears ran down his cheeks and he felt like if he opened his eyes he'd be violently sick. He wanted to run and hide, but at the same time he wanted to start a fight with Weston, the taller, dark skinned body guard who took a dislike to him. Being floored by him would be worth getting to punch him in the face. 

But fuck- What if he couldnt save Dean? What if he ended up dead? What if Lucifer found something worse than death for him? What would happen to Castiel? Would he find Morphine again, or some other drug? Or maybe he would lose himself in alcohol and cigarettes and end up twisted and bitter like Michael himself. All the what ifs in the world popped into his head and he only just stopped himself from screaming out loud. He settled for repeatedly smacking the side of his head with the heel of his palm as he tried to hum one of Deans favourite Led Zeppelin songs to drown it out. Nothing was working, not the fingers still twisting his hair, the words Gabriel spoke that he couldnt hear, nor _for now I smell the rain, and with it pain_ -

"Cas for fucks sake talk to me!"

He jumped, his heart leaping even faster, and turned a wide eyed gaze on Gabriel begging him to help where he couldnt even begin to know how. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, and suppressed the urge to just let himself vomit to get rid of the sick, heavy feeling in his stomach that somehow made everything worse. Gabriel reached out to him and disentangled his hands from his hair while he tried not to sob his heart out, tried to control his breathing by taking longer breaths through his nose, letting them out slow. It occurred to him then that Gabriel hadnt seen him this bad since he tried getting clean, the first week was the worst.

"I dont know Gabe," he said quietly, his voice small and hoarse. "I want this to be over."

"I know," Gabriel hushed him, he seemed shaken by Cas' episode and nothing could make it better. "I'm sorry I thought you were, you know, better."

_ Stronger than that, you mean. Well, newsflash. _

Cas reached for him, because even if he didnt want the contact, Gabriel needed reassurance he was recovering from it. He might act like an asshole but he thought of Cas as his little brother and he did actually get freaked out when he suddenly lost it. Castiel pushed his face into his shoulder and held tighter than necessary against his will, anchoring himself to something and being selfish, yet again.

"I asked," Gabriel mumbled, "Because I cant watch you fall like that again." He meant what happened after Meg. "You cant make me watch that Cas. Promise me you wont."

Castiel blinked tears away and screwed his eyes shut, trying to focus on Gabriels hand rubbing soothing circles onto his back. He didnt know what would happen, it could go either way. He did know, however, if Dean died because of him he wouldnt have any trouble finding the bridge this time because he wouldnt be drunk. He just breathed for a few minutes, slowing his heart back to a semi-normal rhythm and grit his teeth against the headache pounding in his skull. His voice shook terribly when he answered. 

"I wont make a promise I dont know if I can keep, Gabe. I'm...sorry."

Gabriel sighed, but didnt pull away. He let Cas cling to him for as long as he needed to come back to himself. After he tried to convince Cas he needed to eat something, barely got him to drink some water, before Castiel stumbled away out to his car, lay across the back seat with Deans jacket draped over him against the cold as he tried desperately to push the tightness in his chest away again. It clung on like a limpet to a rock and refused to let him go.

Its a miracle he got any sleep at all.

 

* * *

Picking Deans lock felt foreign, but not hard. He hadnt done it in a long while. The burner in his pocket vibrated with yet another message from Gabriel, he'd already told him he'd finished the job and passed the information on to Weston, and was now going for a walk or something. What he didnt tell him was that he was coming here. He shouldnt be here anyway, too dangerous on all accounts. But he needed to see him at least, see he was alright, apologise with his own mouth.

Once the door was open he could hear Deans music, not loud but loud enough, coming from the speakers in his room. Cas stopped midway through taking his boots off, thinking maybe this _was_ a bad idea as he felt himself slip into the domestic routine he'd come accustomed to. He took them off anyway, shrugging his heavy dark jacket off. His first instinct would've been to go straight into the shower and spend a ridiculous amount of time letting the hot water loosen the knots in his back. He missed hot showers.

Castiel locked the door and made his way in, no one in the living room or kitchen as he double checked the window locks and drew the curtains. A vase sat on the kitchen table with bunches of hyacinths that he'd sent the other day, and for some reason he smiled and brushed his fingers over the delicate petals. Just a reminder that he still remembered and cared, he made sure to send one at least every week. It gave him something to look forward to and keep him sane. 

"Cas?" Dean stood in the doorway looking sleepy and bedraggled. All of this was too reminiscent of the first night he broke in and Dean found him. He moved forward then, his bare feet barely making a sound on the floor and enveloped Cas in his arms. "Castiel, _Cas_ -"

"Its me," he murmured, breathing in Deans clean smell and flattened his palms on his back, kissed his neck, the depression at the base of his throat. The tension almost completely drained out through his skin save for one tight knot around his lungs. But that was just a given, its been there all week and would be there forever. Dean raised his head and kissed Castiel on the corner of the mouth, deliberately teasing him as he tugged on his hand back toward the hallway and Cas knew exactly what he was doing.

"Dean," he stopped, turned Deans hand over between both of his, "I cant stay. I want to but I- its too dangerous."

"Just the night," Dean cupped Cas' jaw with his free hand, kissed his cheek, "You left without a word. I have missed you," another kiss closer to his lips, "So much. Please."

He sighed, kissed Deans palm and shut his eyes. Then he leaned up and kissed him for real, giving a quiet moan and pressed himself against Dean with his arms around his neck. Fuck he'd missed this. He missed Deans touch, his smell, his taste. Dean shuddered a little under his touch, slipping a hand under his shirt and an adventurous tongue behind his parted lips. He paused then, pulling back to look at him with a slight frown, and Cas worried he'd done something wrong.

"Have you been...smoking?"

Oh, that. "I...its been stressful."

Dean kissed his forehead, "Well, it tastes nasty and its bad for you. I'm not kissing you anymore until you brush your teeth."

"Fine, bossy."

 

* * *

Dean woke up to Cas' phone vibrating furiously on the floor, and it gave him a headache. But the man either didnt hear it or refused to wake up out of stubbornness. And no matter how glad Dean was to have Cas back in his bed after near of a month, one thing he didnt stand for was being woken unceremoniously by obnoxious phones vibrating against zippers and table legs. He groaned and dug a knee into Cas' side.

"Dude, phone."

Cas muttered something profane and smushed his face farther into the pillow. 

"If you dont answer it I will," he threatened, which was enough to get Castiel to roll over calling him an asshole and hang off the side of the bed to rummage for his phone. Dean presumed they were still in his jeans, discarded on the floor last night. He wasnt complaining however, he got an amazing view of his ass clad in those clingy boxer-briefs he insisted on wearing. And most nights he went to bed in those and nothing else which was a bonus. 

"Mornin' to you too," Cas mumbled from halfway to the floor in a sleep rough voice, hanging over the side like it was actually comfortable, "Out...m' fine. None of your business. Oh fuck _off_ , its too early. Ten forty _is_ early, assbutt."

Dean didnt know who he was talking to, and he didnt really care, but he liked waking up this way. Waking up with Cas again. He shuffled over and laid a hand on Cas' back over the pentagram and muscle he liked to lavish with attention. He ran a slow finger down his back to the dip in his spine just before the waistband of the boxers and ran a teasing finger under the elastic. Cas pulled himself back up and turned to Dean with a sleepy smile, lifting a hand to trace the line of his cheek and curve round the shell of his ear.

"Yeah," he went on, "I get it. I'll be back by four. Yep. What can I say, This bed was more appealing than your crappy ones."

Dean kissed him softly, catching the buzz of a voice on the phone. Cas felt thinner than before, the domestic pudge he'd gained around his belly, that softened the hard muscle and generally made him seem less scary biker more lovable rogue, had disappeared. Well, he was always lovable rogue to Dean, but somehow people seemed to like him more with softer edges. Dean didnt care what the hell he looked like if he was honest but that was pretty cool too.

"Gotta go," he said when Dean kissed him again, his hand wandering to his hip, "I'll talk later."

Cas all but threw the phone aside and reached around Dean with eager arms and claimed his mouth with his own enthusiastically, and flipped them to hover over Dean pressed flush against him. His smile was a welcome sight. Last night he'd slept easier too, it'd felt wrong without Cas there. He didnt want him to leave again but at the same time he knew he had to. And he also wanted to know why, since Cas had failed to elaborate last night when they were both too tired to do much of anything. So he stilled Cas' roaming hands and turned them over to sit back on Cas' thighs. Cas looked like he worried he'd done something and shuffled back to sit against the headboard, Dean followed not wanting to give up his position for several reasons including the fact Cas couldnt just worm his way out of the conversation like he was so good at.

His hands settled on Deans hips, thumbs rubbing circles onto his hipbones, "Dean? Did I do something wrong?"

"Who were you talking to?" Dean asked quietly, flattening his palms fingers spread over Cas' abdomen, "And why d'you have to go?" And he knew he sounded a little like a whiny child, but he sort of had reason given how Cas had a history of not bothering to tell him stuff. Or even just outright lying if he was desperate enough, which wasnt the best of things to be going on in a relationship. For all Dean knew he could have someone else somewhere, and it wasnt that he didnt trust him because it was the complete opposite.

Cas sighed, mumbling his name and looking down to Deans hands on his stomach. He turned Cas' face back up to him, forcing him to look at him. Looking away was the first sign of a guilty conscience. "Please, Cas. I need to know."

His eyes looked sadder than ever. "Gabriel needs me to do a job."

"Gabriels dead, Cas."

"Apparently not," his long fingers wrapped around Deans wrists, holding them gently, "He doesnt know I'm here, I shouldnt be. But I missed you so much. And I wouldnt do it if it wasnt- Someone's after you. Us."

"Who?"

"Lucifer. He's not dead either."

Dean let go of Cas' face and made a frustrated sound, "Doesnt anyone ever _fucking_ die anymore? And why the fuck do they want us?"

Cas threaded their fingers together perhaps in some aborted apology, "People are hard to kill when they're smart. They want you because...because getting you means they get me."

He said 'getting' like it had a heavier meaning he didnt want to put into words, like it pained him, and Dean could only guess the meaning. He had a pretty good idea it involved a lot of pain. His first instinct would've been to run, take Cas and run away somewhere they'd never think to look. But Cas was invested in this it seemed, and he needed Dean.

"If there was another way, Dean, I'd take it," his eyes begged Dean to understand, "I have to finish it."

"Anything else you want to tell me?" he asked, talking around the lump suddenly manifesting itself in his throat. Frustration, probably. Whatever it was, it made him want to cry angry tears and scream to the heavens that if there was a god he was a shitty one.

"I'm having an affair with Ethel across the hall," he said, attempting a smile that faltered, "It all started the day she invited us over for tea."

"Bullshit," Dean tried to laugh, but it lacked mirth, "You're gayer than me, Mister _I-Have-A-Crush-On-Zachary-Quinto_. You talked in vivid detail about how his ass looked amazing in Star Trek."

"How do you even remember that you were drunker than me," Cas actually tried this time, putting an effort into smiling. They're both faking it, they're experts in faking it if it meant avoiding talking about whatever needed talking about. It didnt stop Dean tearing up for some reason, no matter how hard he tried. He felt his face crumple, and Cas obviously saw it and immediately sat up straighter to cup Deans face in his hands and wipe away the tears making tracks down his cheeks against his will. He spoke to Dean in hushed tones, looking like he was barely holding it together himself. No, he was not letting himself fall to pieces in front of Cas. Not now.

"Hey, whats the matter?" he asked Dean, worry creeping into his voice, "Dean? Sweetheart?"

"Why cant they just leave us alone?" Dean whined, letting his head fall to the crook of Cas' neck as the mans arms wrapped tight around him, a protective cage against whatever was out to get him. "Dont we deserve that much?"

Cas rocked and fell silent after a minute of hushing him, burying his head at Deans shoulder like it hid him from the world. How he wished it did. 

"You know I cant stay,  _Golubchik_ ," Cas murmured, using the name he frequently called him. He learned recently it meant 'little dove' or something like that, or so Cas said. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I'll finish this," he said, with conviction this time, and pressed his lips to Deans hair as he slid them down under the blanket again, "And I'll come home to you, and we'll live in peace till we're grumpy old men with arthritis and no hair. I'll end this."


	17. Hell Itself Would Not Receive Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks and descriptions of gore

"You stink of sex," Gabriel said as soon as he sat in the office chair next to his, "You were with him, werent you?"

"Thank you, _Sherlock_ , for your amazing deduction," he snapped sarcastically, "Without you I'd _never_ have known I spent last night with my boyfriend."

The man scowled at him, he had a few hairs hanging down in front of his face where the rest were smoothed back over his head as usual. He took far too much pride in his appearance if Castiel was honest, it was almost embarrassing. "You're an idiot, Castiel, that was a dumb move."

"Bite me," Cas growled and looked at the computer screen and the window Gabriel pulled up, "Why were you so desperate to get me here?"

"We found him," the mouse hovered in circles around a particular place a few miles out from Brandon. "He's close. Its a storage unit but get this, it hasnt been used for five years. Basically just derelict buildings. He always did like his own space, and maybe some of Michaels melodrama rubbed off on him." 

"Is he there now?"

"Yes but-"

Castiel didnt need to hear more, and stood up going to the trunk in the corner full of guns and whatever else. Of course Gabriel kept talking but all he really heard was a dull murmur in the background. This is what he's waited for, they found the bastard and Castiel was going to do his job and kill him. Thats how he got home. "Gimme his twenty, it'll be over tonight."

"No."

Castiel paused with a couple of magazine cartridges in his hand and a handgun in the other. "And why not?"

"Because its suicide Cas," Gabriel hissed, grabbing his shoulder and turning him round, "You're not going alone."

"Is that an order Gabriel? Or just you ' _caring_ ' again?" he shot back with more venom than he intended. "I can handle myself."

"Have you gone guano?" 

He shrugged, "Maybe I have."

He's forcing himself not to feel because if he does it wont get Lucifers body on a slab. It'll just complicate things more and nothing will get done. 

"Cas, listen to me," he begged again, "You'll get yourself killed."

Castiel pushed the cartridges into his pocket, holding Gabriels gaze like a teenager acting out against his parents. The gun felt too familiar inside his jacket and he almost cared. Almost. Each second he spent in this staring match grit on his will and doubt crept into the corners, maybe he was being stupid. Maybe he should listen. But if he did the job wouldnt get done soon enough for him. He pushed by Gabriel and back to the computer screen, taking note of the address. 

"I'm finishing this tonight, Gabriel," he promised as he left. "Dont try and stop me."

* * *

Dean noticed something was off when he got home from work and the door was unlocked. He thought it might've been Cas again though. He hoped so. Except the shower wasnt running, nor was the TV on or the stereo. Just silence. In hindsight, he should have checked the kitchen before he went and trapped himself in his room. Because even when he drew the gun out from under his pillow he knew he had no chance. The first guy that came through the door was tall, blonde and wore a suit like the Men in Black. Dean managed to hit him in the shoulder before he reached him and wrenched the gun out of his hand and emptied it. Now the second man, he recognised.

Blonde, cocky, shorter, and about six feet of concentrated batshit. He smiled and cocked his head at Dean as the man twisted his arm up his back and he fought hard not to cry out, these guys knew nothing of subtlety.

"You," he hissed, "You fucking bastard!"

He hummed as he strolled across the room with his hands folded behind his back, and Dean was scared shitless but he needed to keep his head.

"When God is gone and the devil takes hold," he said, not even singing it, and straightened Deans collar for him, "Who will have mercy on your soul, Dean?"

Now he's in a place, and its dark and its cold. Something warm runs down into his eyes whenever he moves and theres a burning sensation at his wrists, his shoulders hurt from the strain and his toes are only just touching the ground. It hurts to breathe. Every time he does it theres a burning and tearing feeling just under his ribs. He doesnt know how long he's been here for, its been more than an hour though. If he opens his eyes all he sees is black and a sliver of light coming from under what he presumes is the door. One thing was certain though, he's going to die before anyone comes.

* * *

It was almost too easy to find the storage unit, and Lucifer who sat inside. Castiel shot the first guy in the right of his chest, the other he shot through the sternum twice. This was the cold, merciless killing he was used to, and he couldnt help the savage snarl on his lips when he did it. Lucifer didnt even flinch. In fact, he opened his arms to welcome Castiel in the same overly confident manner he remembered.

"Castiel, welcome back," he purred, smiling wickedly. Castiel didnt shoot him yet. 

"Go fuck yourself. And while you're at it, stay dead this time you son of a bitch," he bit out, and raised his gun. He ignored the slight tremble in his hands, whether it was anticipation or nerves he didnt know which. The man only grinned at him, steepled his fingers while Castiels twitched on the gun. He was about to just do it, squeeze the trigger, but his next words turned his blood cold.

"You dont want to know where your beloved is?"

He went rigid, the arm holding the gun lowered as he frowned at him, "Where my...?"

"That was quite selfish of you, Castiel," he drawled, "Keeping Dean all to yourself. I thought it was about time we had a playdate."

Castiel was overcome with white hot rage and pushed the man to the back wall of the small room with an arm at his neck. "Where the _hell_ is he?" he growled, holding the gun to his head. Lucifer only laughed quietly. And when Castiel stepped back, just enough to fire off a bullet into his knee with a sick crunch as the bullet flew through skin and cartrilage and bone, he threw his head back not in a yell but in manic laughter. He praised Castiel on his balls, how he didnt think he could actually do it. 

"Where is he?" he shouted in Lucifers face, yanking him up by his shirt and smacking him against the wall. He's using every bullying tactic he knew and it still wasnt working, if anything it only frustrated him more and made him want to strangle Lucifer and watch the light flicker out of his eyes, hear his last choking breath.

Lucifer grinned at him, "Careful Cas, look too hard and you might _passover_ him. Poor lamb."

"You're fucking insane," he snapped back, pressing the barrel of the gun under his jaw fully prepared to blow his goddamn brains out.

"Now now, Castiel, Jesus died for your sins not so you could use such horrible language," he laughed again, "Three days on that cross until he kicked the holy bucket."

"Cas!" Gabriels voice joined the mix and he turned away from Lucifer, letting him slide to the floor. He wasnt going anywhere. "Cas just go, find him."

Cas, shooting one last glare at Lucifer, dropped the gun and started running before he could change his mind.

* * *

_He'll be dead before you can find him._

_You cant save him._

_Its your fault._

His mind ran rampant as he sprinted through the rats maze of lockups, calling out Deans name, looking for any sort of clue. Now he wasnt so engulfed in anger all he felt was panic and he teetered on the edge of the pit opening up inside him full of guilt and blame and fear so close to falling in he could taste it. He wanted to be sick, to curl up and scream until he couldnt scream any more. But he had to find Dean. 

He was so caught up in the fact he might not that he nearly missed it. The smell of blood and the lockup door covered in a sticky red gloop. In the shape of a crude, inverted cross. The Hebrews marked their doors with lambs blood on passover. It had to be it. His hands shook as he tried to pick the lock and in the end he just rammed his shoulder into it until the rusty lock gave and the door flew open. 

He nearly threw up, nearly fell to his knees when the light hit the spectacle before him. A body hung from an old steel bedframe, bloody and battered, in the image of Jesus on the cross. Except it was tied with barbed wire, its feet hung loose with the toes dragging on the floor, the wire wrapped around his wrists and a crown of it on his head and a seeping wound on its side. Castiels Rosary hung around his neck, slick with blood and sweat, and his stomach dropped. He barely recognised him.

"Dean," he cried, stumbling forward to hold the mans face in his hands and he was barely conscious but his eyes flicked up to meet Castiels, "Dean,  _Golubchik,_ please-"

Dean mumbled something and another bead of red rolled over his brow. Castiel removed the crown and it clattered on the floor away from him as he set to work on the ties at his wrists. He was killing himself for this, it was all his fault. They both collapsed when he was down, Castiel landed on his ass on the gritty floor with Dean in his lap. He pressed a hand to the wound that bled again under his ribs and bent his head over Dean, pressed his lips to his hair, his skin, avoiding the little weeping cuts all over.

"Its okay," he murmured, and his voice trembled, "Its okay baby, we'll get you help."

He was fucking losing it, seeing Dean hurt like this, its a wonder he wasnt a sobbing, crying mess already. He cradled his head against his chest as Deans hand grabbed feebly at his jacket and Dean mumbled something how he'd not make it anyway, he should go. " _No_! Dean I'm not giving up okay?"

"Why the hell not?" he slurred like he was drunk.

"Because you never gave up on me you _stubborn_ son of a _bitch_!" Castiel lost the final shred of his sanity and Dean mumbled soft words in an attempt to quiet him and his rapidly accelerating breathing he couldnt seem to get a hold of. It wasnt going to end this way no it couldnt. No he only just started, they were only beginning to-

He hushed Dean again and kissed his hair, grabbing the bloody Rosary - _his_ Rosary - murmuring a prayer to whoever was listening as Dean went pliant in his arms. He began to rock slowly, saying Deans name at random moments in the prayers, songs, lullabies, whatever he was saying. This was a whole new level of fear, of anxiety, and he couldnt deal with it. He couldnt deal with losing Dean, not this way, not any way, if he lost Dean he wouldnt be able to live with himself. 

_I've been trying, Lord, let me tell you, Let me tell you I really did the best I could._

He started sobbing quietly between words, even though Deans pulse still thrummed weakly under his fingers, and tears wet the top of Deans head where they fell. He still cried when Gabriel came with the parameds, he didnt even ask about Lucifer. They took him away from him, even though he mumbled protests and tried to hang on, the two male paremeds unwound his arms from Deans limp form and talked jargon while Gabriel and the female paramed talked to him quietly even though he could only see Dean. Limp. Lifeless. Pale.

_Your fault, all your fault. Deans going to die and its your fault!_

_No no he cant die no no no...._

"He's got an anxiety...he has panic attacks," he heard Gabe tell the woman crouching next to him as he grabbed fistfuls of his hair and rocked, stared as the men worked over Dean. He couldnt fucking breathe. He barely felt the hand at his back supporting him, holding him upright. He'd never had an attack like this before, he couldnt even call it an attack. More like a goddamn assault on his mind and internal organs and he couldnt stop it, he didnt know how. Everything was too goddamn loud and his hands- covered in Deans blood and his own where he'd cut them to shreds on the wire. It only made things worse.

_You are the sunlight in my growing, so little warmth I've felt before. It isn't hard to feel me glowing, I watched the fire that grew so low._

The woman touched his knee with a gloved hand, "Sir I need you to calm down, can you do that for me?"

_No no no no no!_

"Cassie, please, look at me-"

Theres a plastic mask with a bag attached hovering near his face and all the walls are falling in on him and everythings too close and too loud and too big and Deans too still on the stretcher with a mask of his own and something round his neck and he cant breathe and his hearts going too fast and everyone is staring at him with wide eyes and the mask is too close to his face and too many hands touching him- And he heard someone screaming, voices telling him to calm down between the screams. His throat hurt and he realised it was him doing the screaming, and he couldnt bring himself to stop.

_Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find. He is a feather in the wind..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you'll just have to wait *evil grins*


	18. How Love Had Seized Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for reference to eating disorders and descriptions of vomiting

Dean felt...not. He wasn’t there, not entirely anyway. Sort of floaty, a drop of oil hanging suspended in water. Heavy and weightless at once. He could hear a voice, now he wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a right-now thing but he recognised it even though it sounded tearful and trembling.

“ _Sono qui, Dean. Non lasciarmi, non morite per favore ho bisogno di te_...” it broke off in a choked sound, and the words picked up again a second later. “ _Nu puteți, dau-l înapoi oprire atinge-mă lasa merg_!”

And all he heard for several minutes was jumbled words he didn’t understand. He remembered the time Sammy fell out of a tree, they’d used words like that then. Had he fallen out of a tree? He might have laughed if he had a mouth to laugh with. He’d been a scared eight year old, and yelled at the kid on the stretcher not to go into the light with complete seriousness. Dad smacked him when he got home for not looking after him like he should’ve.

Then the screaming started.

Long, undulating wails of a combination of sorrow and fear. Voices came between them, begging the wordless confessions of agony to stop and calm down, but they continued. It broke Deans heart, if he had one to break, but he had that feeling like something tearing itself to pieces with each further scream. He tried to open his eyes, to see the one crying out in a voice that was more animal than human. Air that was too clean and stale at once filled his not-lungs and the feeling returned to him briefly, and it was overwhelming.

Burning, itching, tugging, pulling, tearing, aching- he hurt everywhere it was possible to hurt and there was a ring of plastic around his mouth and nose, that became too warm with every shallow breath. He willed his eyes to work, the felt like they were welded shut. But then, finally, he cracked them open in time to see a fuzzy, dark figure on the floor, two lighter ones either side one of which in a bright yellow-green, before hands on his head turned him away and a stiff thing was fitted around his neck.

 _No_ , he wanted to say, _no let me see, I know them I know-_

As his body moved, hefted into the air on a board, the man, creature, whatever cried out again, this time with words. He only just caught them before everything flickered out again.

“Mea golubchik!”

 _Castiel_!

* * *

Castiel slept now, thankfully. In the front seat of his car, slumped against the door like a wet rag with sterile bandages round his hands. Only after the poor paramed doped him up with melatonin and Gabriel convinced him to shut his eyes. He just wouldn’t stop screaming. He wondered if this is what he was like before. When he still had a mom to bring him down to earth. Did he scream bloody murder? Or was it quiet? He thought maybe seeing Dean like that pushed him over the edge, and that was Lucifers end game. To make him think he’d lost his mind.

Gabriel sat with him outside the hospital, he’d want to see him when he woke up. And he also knew that waking up in a hospital waiting room, or in a cubicle of his own, would probably make him worse. Its been a long night, and the black midnight gave way to a sluggish dawn damp from the night before. Its only been four hours since Cas fell under but he stirred, his eyes only half open as he peeled his face off the window and slowly came to.

“Where... Where ‘m I?” his voice was rough, and his throat probably hurt, he sat up straighter and blinked a few times, “How’d I get...”

“Easy,” Gabriel stilled his hands when they pulled at the bandages, and when they went searching for something, God knows what. Just patting himself down and going to the glovebox to riffle through the CD’s and paper. “You’re okay. We’re at the hospital.”

Castiel paled and looked like he was about to throw up, instead closing his eyes, “Then Deans...”

“He was stable when they left. But yeah. He’s still in pretty bad shape.”

Cas swallowed a few times, shook his head, and was probably remembering how Dean looked. All bruised, cut up and bloody, barely breathing on the floor. And fuck, how Cas had clung to him like a goddamn lifeline as if letting go of him meant letting go of everything. Even when the parameds sat working to temporarily close up his lacerations and muttered things about bleeding, BP, fractures and concussion, he’d looked like they were cutting into him with steak knives. He’d never seen Cas like that, ever. Not even coming off the morphine. He just totally lost it, sanity leaving him, rationality going to shit. Hell, Gabriel nearly went crazy too when he started yelling like someone stabbed him.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he said suddenly, barely getting the door open before he bent double and the sickly sound of vomit hitting the concrete and stomach turning retching reached Gabriels ears. He’s just glad he was a few feet away from the car and hadn’t thrown up inside.

He had a few bottles of water in the back seat, warming in the sun. He grabbed one and got out, making his way round to Castiel who was now crouching against the side of the car, hands in his hair. The smell of sick nearly made him want to throw up too.

“Better out than in, baby bro,” Gabriel tried, pushing the bottle under his nose and holding it there until he took it. Cas spit out the first two mouthfuls, probably rinsing his mouth because stomach acid tasted nasty. He knew from experience, throwing his lunch away at school and going home to stick two fingers down his throat after dinner because the other kids called him chubby and fat. He’d been a lot like Cas, in the sense that the Rapture offered him an escape and a chance to prove everyone wrong. For months, years, they’d felt like family. Only when they brought in this skinny, lanky kid from New Jersey in with trembling limbs and wide eyes, and a fucking cross round his wrist did he actually realise how fucked up this was. They picked kids specifically, that no one would miss. From broken homes and abusive families, orphans and sad outcasts with a mind to run themselves into the ground. They had no influence, no one knew their faces, and best of all, they could be brainwashed into thinking this was the fucking life.

Somehow Castiel had always been a little bit off. He didn’t talk to the other ones his age, he didn’t talk to anyone actually. He spent his time at the edge of every group, in corners or with the older guys who took him under their wing like Balthazar did. And Meg later. He didn’t look like he enjoyed it but more like it was just the better alternative than what he had at home, or maybe he felt to guilty to go back.

“This is my fault Gabriel,” Cas curled in on himself, snapping Gabriel back to the present when he realised Cas was shying away again. That little monster in his head pushing buttons was making him shrink back from the world and sit in his puddle of misery and low self worth, “If I hadn’t... If I’d listened to you-“

“Hey don’t you dare do that again,” he warned, tipping Cas’ head up to look at him, “Dont you do that to me twice in a day.”

A little puke clung to the edges of his mouth as he looked up at Gabriel with those ever sad baby blues and he looked like he might start sobbing again. “How did you get me to sleep? I rarely sleep after...that.”

“The paramed gave you something to help you sleep,” he said quietly, a couple of people walked by and gave them strange looks. One of them on the ground, the other sitting with his legs out the passenger side and a big splat of bile a few feet away, must’ve looked a little bit weird. “She looked like she’d seen way to many films where people get possessed and start shrieking.”

Cas flushed, but still looked ill, and scowled at him, “So you let them drug me. You know I don’t take morphine, Gabriel, and you know why. I thought you’d respect that.”

“Cas it was melatonin, not morphine. It doesn’t put you to sleep it just helps you get there. Trust the ex-med student,” he reassured Cas. Melatonin’s non-addictive, just a hormone. He was completely safe.

“And,” he went on, “I am not letting you see lover-boy until you’ve showered. You reek of that goddamn lockup. And brush your teeth, no one likes vomit-kisses.”

* * *

The shower hadn’t done much besides wash the mixture of his and Deans blood from his hair and skin and soak the soiled bandages enough that they became loose enough to pull from his hands. The skin was covered in a mess of tiny lacerations and some bled still making the water turn pink in his hands. He’d stood there for ages in Deans shower, feeling wrong and empty without Dean there when he got out. If he could he would’ve swapped their places. Dean handled this far better than him.

His palms stung when he used soap but he didn’t mind. He craved any other feeling than the melancholy sadness churning inside his gut. Or maybe that was just the next wave of nausea. And he thought it might have been, since right after brushing his teeth he was hanging over the toilet bowl just dry heaving.

Gabriel drove him back to the hospital after redressing his wounds, not bothering to comment on how Castiel chose to wear one of Deans stupid batman shirts and a soft hoodie. They smelled of Dean, which was good. And in their bedroom he found Deans gun discarded in the corner, the magazine near the bed and a spattering of blood on the wall by the door. He’d have to clean that up before Dean got home.

He did, however, make the bed and put the magazine back into the gun, sliding it under Deans pillow again. Just for some sense of fucking normalcy because he couldn’t deal with anything else right now. What he wouldn’t give for his Rosary right now. Even if he couldn’t look at it the same after seeing it covered in Deans blood.

He told Dean all this as he lay prone on the too clean sheets with a sterile smell hanging about him. He told him it in French, Italian and Russian. Cas held his hand attached to its heavily bandaged wrist leading to a not so bandaged arm. He was white gauze from the elbow down. Tubes came out of his arms, his mouth and Castiel wished they didn’t. He couldn’t fucking stand this. This was what happened ten years ago, to mom. She’d lain on the hospital bed for seven hours before they declared her braindead, gave dad a moment to say goodbye and tried to calm down a hysterical Castiel. He might have shouted something when they switched the machines off but it wasn’t a clear memory.

If he shut his eyes he could pretend Dean didn’t have all the tubes, wiring and bleeping monitors. He could imagine Dean was just asleep and he was waiting for him to wake up. He wondered where the hell Bobby was, its his nephew lying here, shouldn’t he be here too?

Instead it was Sam that came. Apparently he’d flown out with Jess as soon as he got the call. And he came in anger, and punched Castiel on the mouth when he stood up. Jess said Sams name in a scolding way and smacked his arm with a delicate hand.

“This is your fault you son of a bitch,” he said dangerously low, like Castiel didn’t know that already. “I knew you were bad news, the second I met you!”

A few nurses came to ‘break up’ the fight that wasn’t happening, working with Jess to get Sam down the hall away from the cubicle where Cas fell to his knees. They just failed to work. A female voice, one that wasn’t Jess, but another he recognised, spoke to him quietly. The paramedic who drugged him, how convenient she’d been on the ward. She had this soft brown hair and big brown eyes that had a calming effect on their own. She laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him, coaxing him to take deep breaths because it was starting to get out of his control, and his hands trembled.

She took him away from Dean to another cubicle with an empty bed, closed it off for him and hopped up beside him where he perched on the hard mattress with his head in his hands. The paramedic told him her name was Lisa, and she was pleased to meet him under slightly less drastic circumstances. But he couldn’t speak yet.

Lisa brought him a small cup of water when the nausea went away, he sipped at it slowly for fear it might return and he couldn’t get to a bathroom in time.

“He doesn’t really blame you,” she said with a reassuring smile, “People lash out when they’re upset.”

“Its my fault he’s on that bed,” he countered, “They wanted me, so they used him and I should never have even...”

Cas chewed his lip and dug his nails into the thinly bandaged palm of his left hand. He just wanted everything to turn back to normal, where everyone hated him including Dean. Because then it’d be safe for him and Castiel might be able to stay away.

“Who wanted you?”

He wanted to reply, Lisa had that air of trustworthiness about her, but the less she knew the better. So he kept his mouth shut and focused on the sharp pain in his hand. And he didn’t know he was crying until Lisa’s arm came around his shoulders and she hushed him, asking what the matter was. He didn’t cry like he had last night. It was just one silent tear after another and he didn’t know why. Just that it was.

“You need something stronger than water,” she told him, ruffling his hair, “I’ll be back with coffee.”

When she was gone, he slid from the bed to the chair beside it. It was somewhere small he could tuck his legs up on, curl as tight as his anatomy would allow. He just wanted to disappear into nothing. And he wanted Dean to wake up so he could tell him how sorry he was and tell him why he had to leave. If Sam would let him anywhere near Dean that is.

Light footsteps entered his cubicle, but it wasn’t Lisa, it was Jess. Her slight frame slid easily around the curtain, blonde hair falling about her shoulders. She was unlike Sam in that she didn’t seem to want to yell at him, or resent him, and only offered him a smile and a greeting he couldn’t return.

“Can I sit?” he nodded, and she took up a place on the bed swinging her ankles slowly, “Lisa told me you get all anxious sometimes. Figured it was best to leave Samsquatch with Dean. He’s a real hothead sometimes.”

Castiel remained silent.

“Sam tells me you’re bad news,” she went on almost bemusedly, “That you’re completely cracked and homicidal or something.”

His mind cast back to the two men he killed last night and he shuddered, “I’m definitely cracked.”

“Fuck him,” Jess said in the sweetest way possible, and he turned his gaze up to her. “Dont get me wrong, I love him and all, but fuck him. He doesn’t get to decide who Dean sleeps with.”

Cas felt heat creep up his neck and pink set into his cheeks. He didn’t like it when other people said it. For some reason it was just weird and embarrassing compared to when he or Dean did. It was very much an intimate thing for him, cherished and secret almost. Though he was sure that Deans neighbours probably thought otherwise.

“You love him,” she stated simply, “I can tell. Look dude, I don’t know you but I’m willing to bet that anyone who has the time and patience to love that stupid, arrogant, emotionally repressed _idiot_ called Dean Winchester completely deserves his love and his family’s respect. You’ve got mine.”

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he thought how she was such a small thing and why wasn’t she intimidated by him? Probably had something to do with how pathetic he looked right now, hugging his knees to his chest looking like he was about to burst into tears. Usually though, in the street and things, people tended to just somehow know he was weird, insane, whatever. He was used to the looks he got by now.

Jess squeezed his shoulder, “I’m gonna lure Sam away with food. Give it five minutes, then you can see him.”

Castiel could only smile weakly and murmur the only thing in his head, “ _Grazie_.”

* * *

The first time he bore witness to Castiel forgetting the English word for something was probably the funniest. Mainly because he had paid attention enough in high school to know that he’d just called Dean a small cabbage in a deep, gritty voice during sex and somehow that was hilarious. He’d laughed so hard he couldn’t finish and Cas had turned a deep shade of red and hidden his face against his neck, calling him an asshole for laughing.

Soon after that he realised it happened a lot. Just everyday things, like a pencil or windows, and Dean now knew how to call someone an ignorant fuckhead in about four different languages.

But most of the time he was sweet about it, calling Dean different pet names that sounded nice. German always sounded angry, and somehow the Russian sounded sarcastic. He noted Cas having purred “Chuchuzinho” and “lómhar” as they spooned on the sofa and his lips tickled the nape of his neck. But his favourite was definitely Golubchik.

Cas told him it meant Little Dove, or thereabouts. Only Google told him it meant ducky. He said when he visited Russia, an old nun there frequently called him and the other children that, and curious five year old Castiel had asked what it meant.

He heard that word now, coming to him through the fog shrouding his mind making everything fuzzy. That word that made his heart flutter, all mixed up in other words. Some he knew, some he didn’t, all sad. Then the words Cas liked to murmur, _je t'aime_.

Open your goddamn eyes.

* * *

“S'il vous plaît réveiller,” he spoke in broken, bad French. His tongue wouldn’t say a word in English. “Je veux vous voir avant de partir. Je suis désolé, je ne voulais pas dire cela se produise. Vous es censé être en sécurité. Sa ma faute.”

He held Deans hand gently, but firm so it wouldn’t be easily taken from him. Every time he called Dean _Golubchik_ his fingers would twitch ever so slightly, so he did it as often as he could. He kissed Deans bandaged knuckles and murmured, “Please, _dragă_ , open your eyes, _deschide ochii_.”

He thought he imagined Deans thumb make a slow sweep over his knuckles, and shut his eyes when he felt a single scalding tear fall. Castiel remembered the day he broke his arm while they were in Switzerland on a break from the missionary work, his dad called it a family holiday even though their whole life was one big holiday. He’d scolded Castiel for being silly and climbing up onto the porch roof. Mom had combed her fingers through his hair while he sat waiting for the sedatives to wear off. That was probably the last time he’d been in a hospital for himself.

Nurses came and went now, checking on Dean and asking if they could get him anything. The answer was always no. The coffee Lisa brought him had gone cold, yet he still sipped from time to time. When Deans wrist bandages needed changing he’d sat up obligingly, taking some skin on his hand between his teeth to distract from everything. He couldn’t let himself close down again, he needed to stay here in the now not somewhere in between.

Castiel held fast onto Deans hand as the nurse removed the tubes from his throat, saying he’d probably wake up in the next few hours and having them there when he woke up would be uncomfortable, and he’d probably be disoriented. That was a relief, hearing he would wake up. It meant he was okay, he’d live. It didn’t necessarily mean he’d be...all there. Head trauma’s were funny, in the sense either they could be totally fine or messy. Dean could wake up and not remember a thing about Castiel. It would probably be best.

His thumb made a slow path across Castiels fingers again, but his eyes remained shut tight. At least he could breathe on his own, through softly parted lips Castiel wanted to touch, to kiss once more to reassure himself that Dean was real.

Jess was still gone with Sam. But they could come back any time. He really should go, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Dean alone, what if he woke up? Woke up and thought Cas didn’t care, had left him after nearly getting him killed?

Dean shifted minutely on the bed, a small sigh leaving him. His hand gripped Cas’ tighter and when Castiel glanced at him, his eyes slowly fluttered open. Castiels heart skipped several beats, though Dean didn’t focus right away. His gaze flitted around, taking in the curtained off cubicle, the tubes and wires, the bleeping monitors, and eventually, Castiel. He lingered on his face for a while, a drowsy smile starting to appear.

“Cas,” he whispered hoarsely, repeating the motion with his thumb and smiling a little wider, “I look like shit, huh?”

For a fleeting moment he feared Dean couldn’t remember the past few months. Couldnt remember the first wonderful night, or any that came after, and the thought scared him to death. The sound that came out of his throat was neither a sob nor a laugh. Deans face, littered with bruises and little cuts where the wire crown sat, was still the most beautiful face he’d seen. And no doubt the bruising extended down his torso that Castiel had trouble seeing in the dim light from the night before.

A second noise followed the first, and he wasn’t sure what it was but it sounded pained and Dean took on an extremely concerned expression. He took his hand back and used it to cup his cheek, giving a frustrated growl at the other hand when the IV wouldn’t go that far.

“Hey,” his voice cracked, “Cas, baby, shh...” he squinted a little, “How long have you been crying? Look at me, I’m beat up but I’m okay. I’m okay, we’re okay- shit. C’mere, you big wuss.”

Dean used a hand on Cas’ collar, gripping as hard as he could, to tug him forward. He brushed away new wetness on his cheeks, teasing out a few tangles in Castiels hair with the fingers of his free hand. This wasn’t making it any easier, what he was about to say.

“Dean- mon amour,” he murmured instead, the words coming forth without his consent, “Ma chérie, pardonnez-moi c'est ma faute-“

“Hush you, what happened?” he said as Cas perched on the bed and gave an embarrassingly childish sniffle. Dean pulled him down to lie under his arm, he was sure he would get yelled at by a nurse or Sam when he came back. “I heard you scream, Cas. Did you...?”

He shook his head because that didnt matter, _he_ didnt matter, only Dean mattered right now, and started to apologise again, in French, but Dean silenced him with a finger on his lips, thumb wiping away a stray tear as he settled his head on his shoulder. “English, please.”

“You were so cold, Dean,” he whimpered, “I couldn’t... They had to sedate me for fucks sake.”

“Aw, Baby,” Dean said in a low, sympathetic way, “Shit, you- please tell me you’re not blaming yourself.”

“Sam does too.”

“Sams here?”

“Jess as well. He punched me in the face.”

“That dick,” Deans lips landed in his hair and Cas curled his fingers into the crap hospital sheets, “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged, “Since Gabriel let me leave the flat. He made me clean up and eat before anything.”

“Good,” he paused, tightening the arm around his shoulders, “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

“You should,” his eyes filled with fresh tears, “If I hadn’t... If I’d listened to Gabriel- Dean I have to leave, it’ll be safer for you but I cant because I’m a selfish bastard!” he ended on a quiet sob muffled by Deans hospital gown. He’d cried so much in the past twenty-one hours he thought he had run out of things to cry about. But it was always the same thing, always Dean. It sort of reminded him of that song that was playing on the radio in Deans kitchen the morning two, three days ago by a band he didn’t care for and a name he didn’t remember. Something like make it easy say I never mattered, or whatever. A stupid corny song that Dean sang along to while Cas made breakfast.

“What if,” Dean turned his face up to him, holding his gaze in such a way it was impossible not to return it, “I want you to be a selfish bastard?”

“If you had an ounce of self preservation you wouldn’t!” Cas snapped back, regretting it when Dean winced. He forgot what it was like coming out of ether after head trauma. Light and loud sounds could physically hurt. The little niggling thing in his head poked at the ball of anxiety hanging there and told him he never stopped hurting Dean.

“Yeah, well maybe I’m an idiot,” he took his arm away from Cas and folded them both over his chest. Castiel took the hint and moved to the chair again. Dean went on with a mirthless laugh, “Of course I am, why else would people keep making decisions for me? Not smart enough to make them myself obviously!”

His heart clenched at the waver in Deans voice, only just managing to resist reaching out again. Dean wouldn’t look at him anymore and it hurt. He’d offended him. No, he’d hurt Dean.

“Its not like that,” he tried, attempting to keep the condescending tone out of his voice that seemed ever present. “You know its not.”

He all but pouted at the heart monitor, going a little faster now. “Oh? And how is it?”

“I’m thinking about your safety here-“

“Do you love me Cas?” Dean interrupted him, the sleeves bunching under his fingers. His cheeks turned rose under the bruises.

“What?” Did he really just ask that? Did he have to ask? Maybe he really had lost his memory. Fuck.

“You heard me.”

“I- Dean of course I do thats why-“

“Then you’ve got to let _me_ decide whats best for me,” he insisted, finally looking at Castiel again. “You and Sam both. Hell, even Gabe! I’m kinda sick of it.” He uncrossed his arms, taking handfuls of the bedsheets, and went quiet for a minute. Great, Dean just woke up after going through hell and Cas started an argument with him. He’s a fucking dick.

“What we had was good, wasn’t it? When we took what we wanted, when we didn’t listen to them, it was awesome.”

Cas chewed the inside of his cheek, “Yeah. It was.”

“And it still is you ass,” Dean smiled a little crooked smile, “Just quit being my bodyguard and start being my boyfriend, will ya?”

He was right. He could be an absolute ass at times, and he blamed most of it for the last ten years of his existence. And Dean accommodated for his little worries, like when he insisted he leave the flat first when they both went out, just in case, and checking every lock before bed. But he couldn’t blame this on the decade past. The douchey, overprotective way he went about things. Thinking he knew what was best.

“I love you,” he said just loud enough for Dean to hear. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Just come here you dork,” Dean held out an open hand to him, “And gimme a kiss while you’re at it.”

He nearly started crying anew when he took Deans hand, settling on the edge of the bed and bending to kiss his lips gently just in case it hurt him. He cradled the side of Deans head as the fingers of Deans free hand threaded through the fine hair at the back of his neck, and Castiel murmured I Love You in every language he knew how just to make sure Dean knew he meant it.

“And hey,” Dean mumbled when they parted, “Gonna have to ask you a favour.”

“Anything.”

“Quit hurting my boyfriend,” he took one of Cas’ bandaged hands and kissed the bandages over his palm, “He might be an ass sometimes but I love him. Okay?”

Castiel smiled, he felt worn out after the past two days but managed a nod. Dean pulled him down and commanded him to sleep, despite Castiel protesting, saying he wasn’t tired at all. But Dean silenced him with a hand over his mouth. And Dean hummed to him like it would help, but ended up dozing off sooner than Castiel did. The tune he felt he knew. Sure enough a nurse told Castiel to leave the cot but even in sleep, Dean held on like the world depended on it. He never stopped holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deans alive, yay!   
> Also next chapter will see Cas back at the shrink and Dean back home, also some more Sam and Jess


	19. Our Fate Cannot Be Taken From Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of unabashed fluff to make up for the past couple. They're starting to piece things back together

They gave him morphine, a shit ton because apparently he had fractured ribs, two broken fingers, extensive bruising and multiple lacerations among other things. So most of the time he was fairly out of it, but Castiels presence was a constant. Always by his bed, or in it, until Dean made him go home and shower or sleep. He would sing to Dean softly when he thought he was asleep, never in English but it was sweet. A woman came by now and then, Lisa. She brought Cas coffee and sometimes a sandwich he didnt eat. Well, he made him eat it after a minute of 'gentle' persuasion. 

Sam came and was pretty pissed to find Cas back, and even though Jess soothed the savage beast he still gave Cas dirty looks until he got so uncomfortable he had to leave for a while. Dean snapped at his brother to leave him the hell alone, which started a little disagreement that made his head hurt. Of course, Dean won as always with a remark about how he said nothing when Sam was dating that creepy hooker-type chick. Sam went quiet and he took that as an apology.

"Now you two kiss and make up," he said when Cas came back, a little less pale than he'd been before, "Not literally though, thats my job," he added, threading his fingers through Cas' beltloops and giving him a gentle tug toward the bed. The small gesture, while being quietly possessive, gave Cas a smile that Dean'd missed. Jess groaned and told him to stop being so gross when Castiel bent to kiss his cheek gently with some colour returning to his complexion.

He flushed, "Its the morphine," he said, throwing her a slightly drunk looking grin, "Not usually like this."

"No, he's worse," Castiel spoke up for the first time since Sam got there. All Dean could do was watch while Jess laughed at him, Sam fighting a grin. This is what he wanted, his family all together and not at each others throats. 

"Aw, Dean I always knew you were a hopeless romantic," she ruffled his hair from where she'd claimed the chair, "Totally not the sexually charged hothead Sam makes you out to be."

"Hey! I didnt!" Sam whined, earning a light smack on his chest from Jess.

"He's that too."

Deans cheeks burned, "Cas! Jeez, boundaries man."

Cas, he noted, looked a little terrified but like he enjoyed this, coming out of his comfort zone for a while. Dean knew he'd rather be quiet, even sit alone with him and exchange small, light touches every now and then like the way he sometimes pressed two fingers or a thumb to Deans wrist, feeling his pulse under his skin. He was doing that now standing by Deans side, his fingers the only point of contact. He's been so gentle with Dean like he's afraid to break him. Well, break him more than they already did. 

Now though he had the chair pulled up to the bed, his chin resting on his folded arms. Dean made a note to buy him a comb as he ran his fingers through his hair and teased out the tangled strands. He never bothered to do it himself, and Dean had a theory he only let it get that bad so Dean would play with his hair. Further proven as he shut his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, Dean only smiled and kept combing his fingers through his dark hair that went lighter at the ends. He needed a haircut, next time Charlies girlfriend was around he'd ask her if she still did trims for free. 

"You should go home, get some sleep," he murmured, giving a lock of his hair a little tug. "You'll get a sore neck there."

"No, 'm fine," Cas told him, "You'll be left on your own too, cant have that."

"Go. Home. Sleep." Dean punctuated his words with a light shove that Cas just didnt have the energy to react to. He was running on coffee and air, basically. He just moaned at him like a tired little kid and buried his face in his arms. Eventually Dean gave in and went back to petting his hair. "I know you hate it here, Cas."

He shrugged a little, "Eh. 'S not so bad with you. I just want you home, somewhere safe."

"Hey. Less bodyguard more boyfriend, remember?"

"I didnt mean for you," he reminded Dean. Oh yeah, the whole addiction to morphine thing. And the fact his mom died in a hospital probably wasnt helping. Dean took one of his hands and laced their fingers together, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll make you a deal, you go home and rest up and I wont tell Sam about your little cabbage moment."

"That," he waved an accusing finger vaguely in Deans direction, "Is not a deal, that is blackmail. Fine, but only because your brother thinks I'm crazy enough as it is without _petit chou_."

"Good. Get up here, you can sleep a while cos I'm not letting you drive like that."

Castiel didnt hesitate, throwing an arm over Deans stomach in a way he could hold him but not hurt him too much. It still kinda ached a little, just from the healing bruises and still sore ribs. He hadnt the heart to ask Castiel how he ended up with the shredded wrists and ankles, or why he had an imperfect ring of cuts round his head. The way he'd fallen apart almost when Dean woke up, and the screaming still so vividly fresh in his mind, gave him a clue as to his feelings on the matter. If it was so bad Cas lost total control and went  Jacobs Ladder on everyone, he didnt think he wanted to know. He'd asked how he lost it that bad, Castiel only replied that he didnt know. He could only guess what he'd been thinking, Cas wasnt that talkative about what went on in his head at the best of times. When he did though Dean made sure to praise him for being brave enough to do it. Before all this he'd been getting better with the therapy and stuff, he was good. He just shrank back again.

Cas leaned up and kissed the base of his throat softly, but he wasnt getting away with just that, so Dean pulled him up and stole a lingering kiss. His fingers curled into the thin sheets, lips pressing insistently on Deans bruised ones. Castiel had been so careful with him, this was the hardest he'd kissed him since he was admitted and Dean was hungry for it. He didnt want to be treated like some frail, breakable creature. The IV pulled at his hand, yanking him back to his senses as he reached for Cas with the intention of tracing the line of his jaw the way he liked. As much as he wanted to they couldnt do this here. Stupid hospital. Cas wanted it too, obviously, pupils wide with want and a hand fisted possessively into the fabric at Deans hip.

"As soon as we get home," he murmured in Cas' ear in case an innocent nurse overheard, "I'm pushing you up against that wall in the hallway and taking you right there, cos I'm sure as hell not gonna make it to the bedroom."

A minute shudder went down Cas' spine and he let out an almost silent groan on Deans throat. But with a sigh he relaxed, going pliant and lying still, save for his finger tracing a pattern on Deans collarbone. "I hate this place."

His hair tickled Deans skin as he linked their hands again over his heart and held them there, "I know. You can go home if you like." 

"It wont be home without you, Golubchik, home is where the heart is," Castiel pressed his lips to Deans knuckles, "I love you."

His heart gave a little flutter and he thanked the Gods he wasnt hooked up to that monitor anymore or Cas might know what those words do to him. Dean kissed his bandaged palm in return and told him once again to sleep, asshat. He was thankful when Castiel curled himself against his side, head nestled on his shoulder, and did as he was told for once. He must've been exhausted, which was understandable given the hell he'd been put through four or five days ago, and soon his jaw went slack and soft snores came from him. He did that now, and he hadnt in the first two weeks they shared a bed. Dean guessed it had something to do with his life or whatever. He had started out sleeping in a tight ball on his side, then lay on his front with his face hidden in the pillow, and by the end he'd turned out to be the biggest octopus ever and most of the time Dean woke up to him still asleep, wrapped around him in every possible way and snoring annoyingly in his ear. He didnt mind at all.

"Yeah," he whispered when he thought Cas was really asleep, "Love you too."

 

* * *

 

 

Home wasn’t big, it wasn’t grand, but it was a place they called their own. A place Castiel seemed more at ease than he’d ever felt. The first month he would wander round the house before bed, checking every window and every lock, drawing blinds and curtains, eventually coming to bed, carefully shutting the door behind him, stripping off his (probably borrowed) shirt and sliding in beside Dean. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was someone still watching them, and would frequently wake up in the middle of the night balled up on his side away from Dean.

 

Oh, Dean, the magnificent man he was. He would trace the wings on his shoulders, sometimes for hours until he fell back into sleep. It became part of their evening every night, Dean tracing the lines from memory while they lay there under the sheets in the dark. And in turn, Castiel would murmur to Dean in whatever words rolled off his tongue that particular night that one of them couldn’t easily find sleep.

 

A mess they were, but a good mess. Like the clutter of a home lived in by a content family, or the rather artful or deliberate mess left behind by an artist on their desk. At a first glance it appeared to be nothing more than just random blotches of colour and chaos, but looking deeper made more sense.

After Dean came home from hospital it took a while, a long while, for Castiel to settle again. He was so scared he'd hurt Dean that for three nights he slept on the sofa until Dean dragged him back to bed. And that night Dean kissed him so sweetly he forgot what he was afraid of. He went back to therapy again, and it helped too, even if the therapist told him he reminded her of soldiers who'd unspeakable things. She wasnt far wrong, but thats the one thing he wouldnt tell her, that was for Dean only. The doc gave him "exercises" to do, like making random phonecalls to businesses he had no intention of doing anything with just to get him used to it, which was a big part of the whole anxiety thing. Another one that he was getting increasingly better at was doing shopping on his own without stuttering or getting the shakes in his hands. The one he was really good at was taking Dean places, when Dean kissed him, or held his hand, it all melted away through the soles of his shoes. 

That didnt mean it was gone for good though, it just meant he was getting better. It'd be a while. He still had the odd attack now and then, especially after a nightmare that portrayed in vivid technicolour detail a horrible memory. The therapist talked to him and Dean about how to talk him down out of it and what she'd called 'aftercare.' Even then sometimes it was a little...difficult. At least he didnt scream like at the storage unit, he did start sobbing uncontrollably at one point and thankfully Dean had been there to hold him and talk him down out of it.

Dean was getting better too. His injuries healed, even if he had scars like Castiel now. Rings around his wrists, a clean line under his ribs and others. He made sure to kiss them wherever possible. He played his guitar sometimes, especially when Cas was coming down from an episode and feeling sick and tired. He'd play it and sing softly while Castiel wrapped his trembling arms round his waist from behind and pressed his face into his neck. They were both starting to heal.

Most nights they watched TV, wrapped up in each other. Such an alien, domestic act that Castiel was getting very used to. He liked slumping down so Dean could lay his head on his stomach that Dean said was comfier when it wasnt just all abs. Another thing he'd developed over the weeks, a softer layer over everything else. It made him want to get rid of it on instinct, it meant he was out of practice. Dean allowed him to go jogging but every time he caught him doing press ups he lay on top of him and refused to move, which wasnt necessarily a _bad_ thing...

 

“The best way to know God is to love many things,” he said one night, Dean under his arm.

 

Suddenly the TV wasn’t all that interesting, only the man curled against his side. The one staring up at him now waiting for an explanation.

 

“Its Van Gogh,” he said eventually, fingering the hem of Deans shirt, “Dad used to like him. He’d sometimes come home after a difficult day, or when I got worked up, and sit me down with him, and he’d read a book. Van Gogh’s journal in original Dutch.”

 

“Why?”

 

Castiel settled farther down on the couch, “Dunno. I guess it gave him inspiration to keep going or something. Maybe he thought it'd work for me. Nothing much worked after...”

 

“My dad was insane,” Dean stretched his legs out, “He spent half my life looking for the guy that started the fire and in the end it killed him.”

 

“How did you cope?” he asked genuinely, because it mattered to him how Dean felt. Hell it really mattered. If nothing else mattered Dean did. Maybe because he wanted to know how to handle it on his own when his past came up to bite him in the ass.

 

“I used to field strip my dads guns like he showed me,” Dean told him, “All the time. Or go for a walk somewhere, look for a fight, whatever. I was young and stupid.”

 

Stripping the guns must have been therapeutic in some way, either a connection to his dad or the practiced motions giving him some peace.

 

“The guns,” he murmured, “It made you happier?”

 

“Nah, they made me forget.”

 

Cas nodded to himself, “Like morphine to me then,” he paused, looking down at Dean, “Thats why I did it. It took away the bad for a little while.”

 

“Hey, you don’t have to think about that if it makes you sad.”

 

“Okay.”

 

It occurred to him that maybe Deans his morphine now. Except he’s on a permanent drip, and he has no intention of giving it up this time. He got lost in his thoughts again, barely noticing Dean getting up and making his way to the hallway, even if he told Castiel quietly he was going to bed. He might’ve said he’d be through shortly. He couldnt tell, he felt a tight knot in his gut that had been building for a while, all day. Work had been a little stressful, a customer came in with a complaint and acted like Castiel had been the one to break their ceramic flower pot. After he'd dealt with it he'd went to the break room and called Dean because the monster in his head told him it was all his fault and he'd acted like a fool out there embarrassing himself, which only served to work him up more.

 

When Dean was gone and the house quiet for five minutes, Castiel picked up the pad and pen on the coffee table and wrote. He wrote every quote he remembered his dad saying because they stuck in his head now, not letting him sleep. He filled four and a half pages of the pad with his hand, sometimes in Dutch because he couldn’t remember the English for a certain thing. But after he felt, somehow, a little more at ease. Like getting the words out of his head onto paper made it easier to think. The anxiety didnt disappear, but it went away for a little while back into its box.

 

When he eventually made his way through to Deans – _their_ room, stepping out of his sweatpants and sliding into the bed in his boxers and Deans t-shirt with a goldfish on it, he didn’t feel tired. But it felt better being beside Dean, even if they weren’t touching, just the proximity was good. Dean lay on his front with his arms crossed under the pillow, like he did most nights when he wasn’t tangled with Castiel in some way. Yeah, Castiel liked this life. He did.

 


	20. Here Begins A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very final last chapter of this, its been awesome!   
> I'll read back through and see if theres mistakes, add the art, etc.

_**~Six Months Later~** _

* * *

 

“Maybe we should just go home,” Dean said for the fifth time since leaving the house, “Have a movie night, you know just us two.”

But evidently Castiel was having none of his shit today. He’d said ages ago, months ago in fact, that they should have a proper date since Cas was, as he put it, a free man. He took a bit of convincing, but Dean worked him over. He came round eventually. And now it was him having second thoughts.

They agreed to meet Charlie and her girlfriend at the little place Dean worked. Castiel suggested the bar where he picked up a few hours a week, to ease himself into being a civilian who worked for a living. Coincidentally it was the same bar Dean worked in, and he had no intention of going back there, ever. They went out for a meal once, Castiels birthday, but that didn’t count as a _date_ date.

Castiel grumbled about something, lightly smacking Deans arm, “It was your idea. You’re going through with it.”

“Cas,” he whined, they were nearing the little shop, “Its Charlie though, she hasn’t met you properly yet.”

“Well now she can.”

Castiel had a vague idea of who Charlie was, and Dean knew he was a little unsure of her too. When Dean mentioned meeting her he got a sort of blank look on his face and just nodded. Dean insisted he’d love her but he wasn’t sure himself either. Cas could be changeable and picky about people, like how some days he liked Bobby and others he had ten minute glaring matches with him. Mostly he was okay with Sam, but then he saw him a few weeks a year since he was at Stanford. That made him grumpy though because he couldn’t execute his idea of fun when Sam stayed over. It was terribly amusing to watch him skulk around all day then suddenly become all clingy when Sam went to bed. Neither of them were big romantics but they could definitely do couch spooning.

Dean checked his hair in the rearview mirror for the third time, adjusting the sticky up bits until Castiel grabbed his wrist and told him if he didn’t stop he’d mess it up for real, it was fine the way it was. He himself was sporting an “I just rolled out of bed” look, as per normal. He could pull it off though, either that or Dean was just used to him looking constantly bedraggled.

“We can still go home,” Dean offered again hopefully and Cas just threw him a sarcastic sort of look.

“Dean its you that wants to go home,” he rolled his eyes, “Its only a couple of hours, you’ll survive.”

* * *

The first thing Charlie said was “Hi,” and the second was “Hey he’s the guy you were drawing.”

Dean could’ve died of embarrassment because when Castiel heard that he grinned lopsidedly and gave a quiet huff of a laugh, “You were drawing me?”

“I- you-“ he stuttered, “I was bored and it wasn’t even any good.”

“He said you were fictional,” Charlie laughed, “All lovelorn and piney.”

Castiels thumb grazed his cheek, “Aw, look. You’re blushing.”

Dean muttered something profane and shuffled uncomfortably. Cas could tell he was seriously thinking about running for it.

“Hey,” he rubbed his palm over the back of his neck, “Its adorable. Ridiculously cute.”

“So,” Charlie tugged him over to the booth at the back, the same one he and Cas sat in, “You’re actually a thing? Like a _thing_ thing?”

Castiel let Dean talk, it was more his thing. He focused his attentions more on trying to read Charlie and the girl at her side. Charlie, the redhead, seemed bubbly and liked her novelty shirts as much as Cas liked his coffee in the morning apparently, and the girl with her who looked like an elf seemed to prefer her light, flowing things like the white, almost dressy top and the knee length skirt.

“Cas?” Dean pulled him out of his little daydream suddenly and he forgot himself, was he in the coffee shop with Dean or Mordor? Dean seemed to have cheered up a little, relaxed enough that the blush was fading from his cheeks. He still did the nervous fiddling with the coffee cup, turning it on its saucer. Castiel knew he was desperate for them all to get along, be friends. So he smiled back a little, nudging his foot under the table.

“Sí, el amor?”

Charlies girlfriend perked up, “You speak Spanish?”

He shrugged, “The basics.”

Dean grinned, not even looking at them, “You should hear him when he’s drunk, like _really_ drunk. I don’t think I’ve heard one man speak so many languages.”

“Oh God, Dean don’t bring this up,” he groaned, “Its embarrassing.”

“Its _hot_ ,” Dean corrected him, earning a gagging sound from Charlie. Her girlfriend leaned on her elbows across the table and got his attention by saying his name with a distinctly French lilt to it.

“How many languages do you speak?” she asked, and he had to think for a moment. He mentally counted all the places dad took him in his head, France, Italy, Romania, Czech Republic, Wales...

“At least six,” he said finally, “Its not uncommon for me to, as Dean says, forget how to speak English while intoxicated.”

“It gets weird,” Dean muttered, “He’ll use three at once and not even Sam knows what he’s saying.”

“Ești doar un idiotul,” he jabbed Dean in the side and grinned at his appalled little gasp.

“You just called me an idiot,” he said in mock offence, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Castiel almost forgot they had company, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “My idiot.”

Charlie kicked out under the table, apparently not caring who she hit, and she got Castiel in the knee. He turned to bite out an insult at her but the woman cut him off telling them they were gross and shouldn’t be allowed out in public. Dean responded childishly, sticking his tongue out at her like this was completely normal for them.

Castiel sometimes forgot Dean had a life besides him. A horrible vice he regretted having. But Dean had friends, he had a job here and a few hours at a garage he and Charlie both worked for. He had a brother he skyped regularly (Castiel enjoyed embarrassing him by walking up behind Dean and attack hugging him while his brother looked on horrified) and a not-really-uncle who looked out for him and his brother. All Castiel had besides Dean was his dad (Who had met Dean by now and liked him, which was fantastic).

The rest of the day went relatively well, Castiel and ‘Gilda’ (which Dean just had to state wasnt as cute as his Golubchik, making Charlie laugh so hard her drink came out her nose) as Charlie affectionately called her did get into a mild argument as to the existence of a higher power. Castiel believed that there was a God but he gave up on this third of creation a long time ago, while Gilda claimed that there was no such thing and science proved it. Of course he knew that the world was created in a big bang, there were dinosaurs and cavemen and mammoths, but if we didn’t believe in something then where would we put our faith? And just as Castiel was about to break out the whole ‘where do we go when we die, then?’ card Dean stepped in and said if he had to put his faith in something he’d put it all on Cas. Which of course mellowed him considerably. Dean knew how heated he could get about that, and Castiel supposed it was possibly how he was raised, a man of the cloth for a father, who travelled and spun tales of the bible in as many different languages, he had to believe something, right?

Castiel wouldn’t say he had a religion, but with the life he had, well it helped to have something to cling onto. The notion that if he died he’d have somewhere to go slightly lessened the fear of dying and the nothingness that came after. 

Back home though, he sank into the couch with Deans back on his chest. Both were in sweats, with no intention of leaving the house for the rest of the weekend. Neither of them had classes or work until Monday. Sam had badgered them both enough that they picked up leaflets for the community college which just happened to do an engineering course for Dean and Castiel had picked the languages one. His lecturer was impressed with how well he took to the course.

His finger traced lines over Deans chest, circled his navel and back up again, "Hey Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"You think in a couple of years we could, maybe, _possibly_...kids?"

Dean coughed and craned his neck to see Cas, " _Kids_?"

"You know, smaller versions of people."

"Yeah I know that but-" he sighed, "I'm not exactly dad material, Cas."

Castiel bent and kissed his frown, "You'd be a great father."

Deans music played softly in the background, sometimes thats all they needed. Most nights they fell asleep piled on top of one another because the day had been long and tiring, and Cas would wake up with his face pressed into Deans soft belly or Dean tangled up with him somehow. But always, always in the background was music. The soundtrack to their lives.

"Please tell me you're not just getting broody cos Sams getting one in like seven months," Dean smiled at him, "Oh my god you are."

He whined and jabbed Dean in the ribs, "No I've always wanted them. It just never seemed possible."

"We'd need a bigger house for one," Dean looked at him upside down, "And dont get your hopes up cos theres background checks. Sure you dont just want a rabbit?"

"Golubchik," Castiel kissed his hair, "If you dont want them just say."

He shut his eyes and nosed at Cas' neck. He meant it, if Dean didnt want any kids, that was fine. He valued Deans happiness more than possible children. And the process was long, the background checks would probably rule either one of them out, who's to say they'd even get accepted? If they didnt, like Dean said, theres always pets. It wouldnt be the same but hey, uncle's better than nothing.

"Why the hell not?" Dean said after a while, "Give it a few years, we'll have our very own house with a garden and everything. How many?"

He grinned, "Four?"

"I was thinking two, max," Castiel waited and Dean reached up behind him, running his hand through Cas' hair, "Okay maybe three if you really want."

"I love you, Dean," he murmured, "Kids or not, I love you regardless."

"Just hurry up and kiss me," Dean pulled him down to meet his lips, "I love you, you big dork."

_If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you._

_When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read it, and to everyone who commented! You're all awesome x


End file.
